


How to Adopt a Future Grey Warden and Other Tales

by StoleTarts



Series: Dragon Age: A How-To Guide [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Fantasy, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, M/M, Male Slash, Romantic Comedy, Same-Sex Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:07:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 50,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoleTarts/pseuds/StoleTarts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of stories about the Warden's life, from his adoption by the Couslands to becoming the lover of King Alistair. (M/M Slash. M!Warden/Alistair, follows in-game story progression)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How to Adopt a Future Grey Warden

**Author's Note:**

> *Disclaimer: A few lines of dialogue have been taken directly from the game or have been paraphrased from game dialogue. Anything recognizable as game dialogue is not mine, and I bow to the BioWare writing team.*

To start the tale of the Warden, one must start from the beginning. To understand the actions and events that are now deeply engraved in our current world, one must understand the past.

To begin with, Izarre Cousland was not always such. He was not born to the nobility which came with the Cousland title. Like many of the unfortunates who wandered the streets of Highever, the would-be warden lived a meager existence as a cutpurse and typical delinquent. Without ever knowing his parents, he was often targeted for his gentle features, stark-white hair, and piercing, green eyes. It was always assumed he was of mixed blood, accused of having the soft features of an elf without the sharpened ears. It was sheer luck that his white hair, which would have naturally stood out, was so often dirtied with soot and mud. This made it hard to place him out of the crowd of other wild children running through the streets barefooted on a daily basis.

In the evenings, they would cuddle together in shacks, using old hay and bits of ruined cloth for bedding. If caught stealing, they were beaten, but no one would take in a stray. Many of these boys did not know their parents either, being the unwanted children of whores and barmaids. Some were made through saucy affairs, while others were simply abandoned after a loss of a homestead, fortune, or family to disease. Izarre's earliest memories were of these times. While life on the streets was not glamorous, it looked like quite the adventure to a rich boy locked away in a castle by his parents. Fergus Cousland, the only child and son of the Teyrn and Teyrna, often daydreamed by the window when he should have been focusing on studies.

To lock a child up was cruel, he often thought to himself, and felt it his  _duty_ to mingle with his people...so long as mingling meant he got to run the streets like the other boys his age he saw in the marketplace. After much careful planning, the young Cousland managed to do just that. On a sunny afternoon, as the old tutor dozed off yet again in the large comfortable chair with a heavy book upon his chest, Fergus took the opportunity to sneak out through the servant's entrance by the back of the kitchen. Draping himself in a 'borrowed' cloak, he hurried through Highever to the busy streets. Fascinated by the smells, sounds, and thrill of freedom, he looked like a young tourist in his own town. As he wore the fancy clothes of his noble upbringing, he was also made to be an easy target.

Izarre had taken a silent notice of the young man, smirking to himself at who he must be. A rich son of a merchant, perhaps? The spoiled brat of a noble women who was off spending her husband's coin on yet another piece of clothing or useless trinket? The questions occupied his mind and helped him forget about an empty stomach, at least, until the naive, young lord was hassled into a back alley. Even at only ten years old, the little urchin could smell danger. To be fair, he had been on his own for as long as he could remember. Being able to sense foul play is what had kept him alive.

In the dank, secluded area, Fergus had been cornered and surrounded. While he was trained to fight by the best swordsmen around, including his own father, there were simply too many of them. It was going to be quiet death until the sound of a broken board was heard, immediately followed by the sound of someone falling down face first into the dirt. "Stop standing there, you idiot! Come on!" Turning to give another one of the assailants a swift kick to the groin, he felt his hand grabbed and arm pulled. As if by instinct, his feet began to move on their own as he was being lead on by a child who barely came up to his chest. There wasn't any time to ask questions as they were being chased through alleyways, dilapidated homes, and finally rested with their backs pressed against a wall while hiding under a dirty canvas. There was a lot of noise and swearing when the pack of older thugs lost sight of their prize and turned tail before the guards came.

He heard the sound of his heart beating nearly out of his chest, his breath short as he panted uncontrollably. Turning, the boy next to him stood perfectly still, their hands still clasped together tightly. While the obviously well-fed and taken care of young man seemed exhausted from their run, the other child did not. Looking over, he noticed the bits of bright, white hair and the smooth pale skin dressed in dirty rags. There were also no shoes on the small, dirty feet. Instinctively, the rich boy put a hand up to push the mud-caked hair aside to check for signs of being a knife-ear, but it was just as rounded as his own. Being touched so causally, Izarre jumped away like a startled cat. The green eyes glared at Fergus like a cornered, wild animal. Letting go of the hand, he pushed the dirty drop cloth off of their bodies, taking in a breath of  _fresher_  air. "That was close. You're pretty stupid..."

"I...Excuse me? How dare you...?" But before retaliating, there needed to be a sigh of relief. This child was not the enemy. "I mean...thank you." 

"You can cut through that way and get back on the main streets," the filthy kid pointed where the marketplace can still be heard. "Go home." With that he sat down, since having no home made this was as good of a place as any. Giving a nod, Fergus moved to walk away, but stopped.

"Aren't you coming?"

"No." Such a blatant answer, it threw the noble off-guard.

"Why not? What's your name? You should come with me, I mean, you saved my life and all. Father said I should never abandon a debt." He was only glared at through the overgrown and messy cut hair which hid one of the angry eyes. "My name is Fergus. Fergus Cousland, of the Teyrn and Teyrna Cousland...You do know who that is...right?" The small head tilted like a confused mabari.

"You mean you live in that big castle? Why would you come down here?” There was a pause to smile. “You really are an idiot."

"I'm not! I just wanted to see what it was like...and I'll take you to my home where my father can repay you. You deserve a reward for saving me! And...then you can go back to your home..."

"I don't have one of those." Now it was Fergus's turn to look confused.

"Not have one of what? A home? That's silly! Everyone has a home!" he laughed. "Maybe you don't understand. It's, you know, the place with your mother and father..."

"Don't have those either."

"Then where do you live?"

Standing to dust himself off, though it made little difference, Izarre pointed at a pile of empty, abandoned crates. "Tonight? I don't know. Maybe, over there? That looks dry." Fergus looked and absolutely cringed.

"That's..." It only startled him more as a large rat came crawling out of one of the crate's holes. "Ugh...that's foul! I forbid it. The savior of my life is not sleeping in a rat’s nest!" For the first time since they met, the smaller boy laughed.

"Don't you know anything? The rats keep it warm! Then you can kill them and make stew for later." The look of horror that painted his new friend's face only pushed the laughter to be louder. The tension finally broke and they smiled together, though there were still protest about how utterly disgusting it was.

"It's decided then. You'll come home with me. I don't have anyone at home... I was going to have a little brother or sister, but Mother couldn't make it with the baby. They....said that they aren't going to let me have any siblings after that." The smile faded into a distant memory of sadness after saying such a thing. Quickly, it was shaken off as he took the other's hand. "Your name? I need to know the name of my new brother."

"...It's...Izarre." The young white-haired boy stood still, despite being touched yet again. He was amazed how easily he was accepted and accepting of such naive kindness.

" _Izarre_? You mean like 'star'? That name really suits you with that weird hair of yours! How did you get such funny hair anyway? Only old men have white hair like that."

"I...was born with it, so they told me."

"Alright then,  _Little Star_. We need to get back to the castle before they notice I'm gone." As Fergus gripped the small hand, Izarre allowed himself to be led, only speaking up to give directions back to the castle. Sneaking through the entrance, past the guards and gates, they managed to get to the small lord's large room. While he didn't believe the tale that he had rescued a young Cousland at first, he was starting to now. The bedroom was everything told in stories of the rich and noble-blooded. The sheets were made of silk, the bed large enough for at least five boys his size. It would have been wonderful if they were not greeted at the door by a large hound. The wardog jumped to defend his master from the small intruder, only to be bopped on the nose by his owner. "That's enough out of you! Quiet before mother hears! This is Izarre and he's my brother now, so be nice to him!" The boy being introduced, who had taken to hiding behind and underneath the shabby stolen cloak, peeked over to look at the dog. They met eyes and stared to size each other up before it began to bark happily. He was acknowledged as a friend and was now someone else to possibly pounce on and play with.

"FERGUS! What is all that noise!" The sound of a scolding lady could be heard even from down the hall and behind a closed door.

"ACK! It's mother! Quick! Hide under the bed!" Startled, Izarre scurried like a frightened mouse under the frame, the mabari following after him panting loudly until hushed. With a whimper, it shut its maw closed. The large door swung open as Fergus went to sit innocently on his mattress with his dangling ankles attempting to shield the view.

"I know you snuck out today, Fergus. Thank the Maker you're home safely. You have no idea how worried your father and I were about you!"

"Oh, let the boy be, dear. The young lad just wanted a little adventure. He's old enough..."

"That's no excuse, Bryce! He should have finished his lesson and...by the Divine, what is that smell? Where is your mabari?" Being called out, the dog wiggled out from hiding. Turning to the bed, he began to bark as to call his new companion out as well. Playtime was over.

"What is he barking at?" The father was more curious than anything and ducked to see what was there, but his son jumped to try to stop him.

"Wait! It's nothing, Father!" In the darkness, Bryce Cousland only saw bits of white hair. "Is that a rabbit?” he asked before raising an eyebrow. “...Is it dead? 

"A rabbit? Fergus, I told you not to bring in wild animals into the house! What if they have diseases?!" his mother exclaimed as her child sighed, watching his father reach for his hidden friend helplessly.

"OW! What in the world!? I've been bitten!" Wrestling, the man finally managed to pull out what was under there, a ragamuffin creature who was wiggling and kicking wildly. "It's...a child?" Eleanor Cousland looked bewildered. Coming closer, she inspected the unclean thing. "Is it one of the servant's children? A thief?" Before the couple could come to an explanation, Fergus took a small hand and pulled him down from his father's grasp. 

"This is Izarre. He saved my life in the marketplace and now he's my brother." The struggling stopped as he came within reach again.

"Your...brother? Fergus, you don't have a brother," began his father, but was interrupted.

"I do now, alright?!" The hand gripping Izarre's grew tighter as frustration began to come out. The shorter boy’s eyes softened and allowed for his hand to be squeezed at tightly as it needed to be. "Izarre doesn't have a home or parents. No one takes care of him and he has no one to play with! He saved my life and you told me never to abandon a debt, Father! He's my brother now and he's staying with me!" The noble words of their kind-hearted son stuck into the hearts of his parents.

"Bryce…," the wife spoke to her husband as he turned to smile at her before kneeling. 

"You're right, Fergus. We never abandon a debt. If he saved your life, then we are grateful. He...can stay here...as your brother." The tears that were wheeled up in the large, brown eyes released as did the grip on Izarre's hand.

"Really? You mean it, Father?" Bryce nodded.

"I do. You're welcome to stay with us, Izarre...but first...we need to clean you up. You smell terrible..."


	2. How to Keep a Secret

Izarre blinked as he was suddenly lifted into strong arms and carried. His size made it easy for this to be accomplished and it wasn't long before he was in the tub being scrubbed down from head to toe as his new mother and father watched from a safe distance. The faces he made were more than obvious that he disliked being touched. Even with the occasional biting, he was eventually cleaned. and underneath the layers of dirt and filth was actually a child with gorgeous, glowing, white hair and large, jade eyes.

It was really a shame how the pale skin had been marked with so many bruises and scrapes which were previously hidden by enough filth for the tub water to have blackened into tar-like crud. Huddled under a large soft towel, the child shivered as he felt as if he were on display for approval. His questionable looks could easily confuse him for both an elf and a young girl, but there were also just as many male and human features mixed in as well. It was hard to tell where the mix was or if there even was one. “Oh, he's simply adorable, Bryce. A little bunny after all that mud is off. Doesn't he look like an Orlesian pup? The small ones with all that white fur?” cooed Eleanor from the doorway.

“Well, he certainly bites like one.” Laughing, Bryce came over to look down at his new charge. “Your name is Izarre, right? That means star? Interesting. And Fergus says you saved him? You must really know how to handle yourself in combat,” he nodded as his thoughts gave way to ideas. “You'll make for a good sparring partner.” The kind hand of the older man came to ruffle up the wet head, making the tiny body stiffen while being easily pushed around just the same.

And so the days of Izarre Cousland came to pass. Fergus was delighted to finally have someone around his own age to play and duel with, even though they were a few years apart. The latest addition to the family was also soon the talk of th town. Some claimed that he was really the Teyrn's child from an elven mistress. Others claimed him to be the ghost of the child the Teryna miscarried come back to life shown to be a spirit with glowing, white hair and eyes which could steal your breath away. No matter what the rumor, the Cousland's raised the stray as their own. “Brother! Brother! Izarre!” Fergus was giving chase to younger sibling who had walked out of dinner party in a hurry. “What's wrong with you? Shouldn't you be happy for me?” Now seventeen, the older brother had just announced his engagement to his new bride only to have his thirteen year old sibling not take kindly to the news.

“I am happy for you,” the younger boy mumbled while looking to the floor, though his fists clenched tightly. The once messy and lice-filled nest on top of his head as a youth had been pampered upon by a doting mother who insisted it be grown out. Pulled up into a high ponytail, it dangled against his back like a long silk rope.

“So why are you walking out on...”

“You didn't tell me anything!” the distraught teenager shouted. “And now you have a pregnant wife-to-be! You always used to tell me everything and now you're keeping secrets!” Fergus's toned softened. The naive son had grown into a strong, young man with a pretty, young woman to be his wife and mother of his unborn child.

“I...I'm sorry, brother. I wanted to have a surprise...”

“You're gone for nearly six months and come back like this?!" but the mouth closed. It wasn't because there was something he didn't want to say, but more because he didn't know _what_ he wanted to say. Sighing, a smile was offered, though it wasn't exactly sincere. “I'm happy for you, Fergus. She's very pretty. You'll be a good lord one day.” The sadness was caught onto in his voice, but Fergus knew it was the best he was going to get. Despite the years together, Izarre knew his place. He had taken the last name of the family, but he wasn’t going to gain any titles. He treated others with great respect, while keeping his emotions heavily guarded. The only one he considered himself close to was with Fergus, which still wasn't exactly normal.

“Alright, let's get back to the party. I still have a table to drink you under.”

It was at the balcony when Bryce came to him later that night. He had a few important topics to discuss, which included Fergus's new life. “Staring at the moon again, pup?” The moonlight glistened off the pale bangs which hid portions of his face as he turned to look at his slightly-intoxicated father. “I know you're upset about the wedding, but Fergus will still be your brother and you'll still be my son. You won't inherit the castle, but you're always welcome here. Fergus loves you. So do your mother and I…”

“And you smell like a brewery," the old man was teased.

“I do not... Well, perhaps a little,” Bryce laughed as he cupped a hand over his mouth to smell his breath. There was a hesitation to bring up the next subject. “There is something else...” Pressing his lips together, he wasn't sure if he was ready for this conversation. It had been bothering him for over a year now and perhaps the alcohol gave him enough courage to speak.

“Yes, Father?”

“In training today, your...well,” he began to say poorly and tried to find a better way. “You've always had this very potent... _aura_ when you fight. You manage to strike fear in your enemies and your blades weaken your opponents…which is good.”

“Well yes, Father. You’ve trained me well...”, the boy froze at the mention of his natural talents.

“Bah! You had skills since you came here. I've never seen such reflexes and adaptation...however, lately...” A hand came to his son’s shoulder, giving it a loving squeeze. “How long have you known about your magic, pup?” There it was. In truth, Izarre had been getting into actual fights recently instead of duels or training exercises. He was no longer sticking to simple tricks where he could lie about how it about being a simple, little, homeless thief anymore.

 “...It's nothing serious. I don't go around casting fireballs or anything,” he shook his head. “That's embarrassing!” Keeping their voices hushed, Bryce continued to speak and tried not to laugh.

“Even with those auras, you're one of the fastest blades I've seen. I'm very proud of you.”

“...Are you going to send me to the tower?”

“Absolutely not! You're neither a threat nor a true mage. I've never seen a mage fight like you and you never showed any signs of sparks or… _twinkles_. Just be honest, have you heard the demons?” Laughing softly, there was a nod.

“Sure, I have and I tell those little shits to piss off. They all but gave up when I was a little. I've been able to do these things since I can remember.” There was the drunken sigh of a relieved father after that.

“Thank the Maker. I'd hate to lose you to those damned Templars...You're much stronger than they are.”

“Bryce! Bunny! Come over here, my darlings!” Eleanor had also been dipping heavily into the wine and was trying to entertain her guests.

“Does Fergus know?” was swiftly asked as the male pair quickly straightened up and the question was nodded to yet again. “Don't tell your mother.”

“Wasn't planning on it.” With that, the youngest and the eldest of the family went to the beckoning call of the Teyrna. It would be six years later when a loving father, a doting mother, a young bride, and Fergus’s child would be slain in the Arl Howe’s betrayal.


	3. How Alistair Was Having a Bad Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A few lines of dialogue have been taken directly from the game or have been paraphrased from game dialogue. Anything recognizable as game dialogue is not mine, and I bow to the Bioware writing team.)

Alistair was having a bad day. It wasn't unusual for him to have bad days as he often thought if it weren't for bad days, he'd have no days at all. On this particular cloudy and windy one in the ancient Ostagar Fortress, the would-have-been Templar was now harassing a mage under orders. It was soon after the irritated enchanter stormed off did Alistair naturally assume his day was going to get even worse. And there it was. Wandering up to him, their sharp, green eyes trailing the back of the mage who had just left, was the most interesting and beautiful creature he had ever seen. He hated when he was right.

She was dressed in leather armor, but obviously still quite young as her body had not taken the shape of a fully-developed woman yet. She wasn't very tall either, which suited Alistair just fine. Perhaps she was an elf? Alistair didn't mind that of course, with all things considered, but he did instantly fall in love with the pale hair. It was this unusual, flowing, white color being blown away from the strong gusts of the mountains which reminded him of swirling clouds, or sea foam, or something as equally lame and romantic. She didn't speak, only stared, and it was enough to find himself babbling like a brook. "You know, it just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?"

"Excuse me?" There was a surprised look and silent blinking.

"I... Are you a man?" Leaning closer, Izarre's face stiffened at the sudden intrusion.

"Of course, I am! Who do you think you are?!” The questioned man could no longer speak and his continued staring only pissed off the other even more. “My name is Izarre Cousland from Highever. Didn't Duncan tell you about me?" An eyebrow was raised as then he quietly wondered if all the Grey Wardens were this inept. A leather-gloved hand moved to up to push the baffled Alistair's face away.

"Right!” he finally said, snapping out of the daze he was in. “That was the name! Izarre means star, right? You have to admit, that's pretty…girly, I mean...a _nd the way you look, no wonder I was confused_..." Though the last line was mumbled, it was heard loud and clear.

"From the way I look? Well, excuse me for not looking like I lived with a nug for the last month. I'm here to be a warden, not sexually assaulted by some…pent-up letch."

"Hey! I'm not some slobbering, drooling letcher. ...Please stop looking at me like that." The glare in Alistair’s direction softened to a smile which meant he was believed to be truly an idiot and not worth being upset over.

"Look, I didn't mean to be rude. I've just...had a very long past few days.” Izarre paused to put on his best manners. “I look forward to traveling with you."

"Huh, that's a switch,” said the warden as his guard dropped. “Well, I'm Alistair. As the _junior member_ of the Order, I'll be helping you with the Joining. I can't tell you much about it, but that's how it is. Did you speak to the other members already? If not, I can gather them later." A nod was given to the question as strand of loose hair behind a round ear. It was a terrible habit to have, but it proof enough of not being an elf to onlookers who already questioned his heritage.

"I have."

"Good, we better get a move on to Duncan then. I'm sure he wants this over with as soon as possible considering what we're up against here." There was another nod in agreement. "You don't talk much, do you?" His curiosity was admittedly peaked. This frail-looking thing was not only a man, but recruited by Duncan himself. He also felt nothing threatening or battle-hardened unlike the other would-be wardens, not to mention that hair. _How bizarre,_ he thought to himself. While he had seen white, silky hair like this amongst the elves, a quick glace to the ears said this wasn't the case. On Izarre's back were also strange weapons of choice; a sharpened dagger and a sword embedded with the Cousland family crest. It was his father’s, his brother's, and would have eventually fallen into his nephew's hands, but now it was his. Walking back to the tent in silence was uncomfortable and the heavy burden of the new recruits could be felt. The current warden knew all too well what the Joining was and how it could suddenly end. "Duncan, I need to speak to you about the little one..." Before setting off to the Wilds, he had stayed behind with the promise to meet the three initiates at the gate.

"That's unusual for you. I understand you have a sense of justice, but Daveth..."

"No, not him and he's not all that short. I'm talking about the one with white hair, Izarre. Who is...?"

"Ah." Alistair was silenced effectively by Duncan's back turning towards him to organize some scrolls. "That is the Cousland's youngest from Highever. Since the King already knows, I suppose I should update you as well. Arl Howe turned against the family, killing all but the two of us."

"...What? Arl Howe? But why would he...?"

"Opportunity comes in many forms. He used the Blight as an excuse to empty the castle of Highever and used his own men to raise his position. He would have killed everyone and made the Cousland's out to be traitors." Pressing his dried lips together, Alistair looked away as he processed these thoughts.

"But you said that King Cailin already knows..."

"Yes, and there is the Blight to worry about first. Young Cousland will get his chance, but he is a fine fighter. One of I best I've ever seen." Laughing, he crossed his arms in disbelief.

"Are you serious? I confused him for a woman and he barely comes to my neck. He's tiny and looks as timid as a chantry mouse. How did he manage to survive? Ran into a hole and hid there until you came to rescue him?" Laughing heartily, Duncan turned to look back at his underling.

"Not at all. He cut through the guards, defended his mother, and managed to make it to safety with her, but his father was gravely injured. His...mother stayed with her husband...and his brother is lost here in the Wilds. A large burden has been placed upon him, so please have more respect for my decisions.” The smile from faded from being scolded. “Izarre will prove himself to you if you would only stop bothering me with questions and head to the woods like I told you." 

“So, what? You’re telling me that he managed to cut through seasoned guards like that? Are you sure?" The frown deepened as his arms lowered.

"Yes." The reply was matter of fact-like, but then something important was remembered. “Wait, there is one more thing. He’s not a true Cousland. He was adopted at a young age, but you and I both know that blood has nothing to do with family."

"Ah...yes...I heard something about that before I believe...and...you're right. I apologize. I'm heading out now."

"Maker be with you, Alistair."


	4. How to Insult a Goldfish

He hated to admit it, but Duncan was right. In fact, all of the recruits were very skilled. Daveth was quick with a blade for sure, but deadly accurate with a bow. Ser Jory swung that large sword of his around with slow, but ending blows. As for Izarre, the petite noble changed entirely when faced with a life or death situation. Showing no fear, he was quick to strategically position himself behind darkspawn, who seemed to be heavily afflicted by simply being cornered. It was something Alistair couldn't quite place, but had decided not to doubt the outcome. It did, however, bother him when Daveth became rather chatty with the Cousland orphan. Both had grown up on the streets and made their living as they could. It was a friendliness which wasn’t shared amongst the other members.

Gathering the vials of blood was easy enough, but the real mission was to find these treaties. Fighting both undead and the wilderness was hard enough as is, but at the broken and rather empty chest emerged a creature most foul. Despite her appearance, Alistair could smell evil a mile away. Unfortunately for Izarre, Morrigan could smell magic a mile away as well. Ignoring the idiot, her attention focused on the smallest recruit whose crippling miasmic aura was pouring out from every orifice. It was something another mage could see very clearly, while the other members of the party didn’t notice it at all. After she gave her fellow mage a knowing smile, he forced himself to relax and the dark cloud faded away. "That's interesting,” she cooed to herself softly.

"Right,” Alistair coughed to regain control of the conversation. “So, if you can just take us to your mother, we can get back our property and then you can go back to turning people into toads or whatever it is you wild witch people do." At Flemeth’s hut, Izarre's nose twitched. He hated being around other mages as he sensed them just as easily as he was sniffed out himself. Remaining as polite as possible, he hinted at wanting to leave as Morrigan whispered things to her mother. When left alone, he went to stare at the vast swamp instead as Daveth and Ser Jory had taken a seat on a rotted log to sharpen their swords and arrow tips. While isolated, Alistair took the opportunity to try to warm up to him since there was a twinge of guilt from doubting his skills in combat before and finding out that his entire family had been recently slaughtered. "So!" the awkwardness began. "I heard from Duncan that you're from Highever... You haven't asked many questions about the Order. I know when I first started, I had a _ton_ of questions..." There was a nervous laugh and pause while waiting to be asked something, but the silence remained. There was instead a stare, but it wasn't the look of confusion rather just the look given to nearly anyone who tried to be friendly with closeted mage.

"I...yes,” he finally spoke as he turned to look back at the swamp. “I came from Highever, but I already told you that.”

"You did? Oh…OH! Right..." A smile cracked as Izarre rotated his body to face him better with crossed arms, having to look up as he was at least a entire head taller.

"You have a really bad memory.”

"Well, some say it's the memory of a goldfish, but I say, why insult the goldfish?" Laughing at his own joke, he was surprised when the recruit laughed as well. It was really like night and day. While fighting, he showed no mercy, but here between smiling and laughter, he was gentle and...soft? Was soft a good word for it?

“Aren't those two going at it a little heavy?" Daveth asked while keeping his voice low and nudged Ser Jory with an elbow. The brute only shrugged as he continued to sharpen his blade.

"None of my business between two men,” he said. “Though the little one does look a bit like a girl, I couldn't do it myself. Strictly for the ladies, I am. Can't wait to see my wife again and greet my babe as a Grey Warden. What about you? Any plans after this?"

"Well, if we survive the battle, that is? Yeah, I think I'll just stay here away from any city guards who might get the notion I can still be hanged, Grey Warden or not."

"Ahem." The small amount of happiness was interrupted by Morrigan's throat clearing. "If you'll allow me to interrupt your poor flirting, here are your treaties. Now leave."

"Fl…Flirting? I wasn't flirting. We were just talking and making jokes, right?" Alistair's babbling was always the worst when he was nervous. As for Izarre, he only looked to him before taking the ancient scrolls in hand.

"Thank you, Morrigan."

"Hey, I wasn't flirting!" The scoffing of the other two on the log made the hair on the back of his neck stand. "I wasn't!"

"Alright Alistair, you weren't flirting." A comforting hand came to the warden's shoulder by the rogue after moving to stand, who then pointed at the back of a walking away long, white ponytail as it swung back and forth in stride. "Just like you're not staring right now at that rear end."

"I'm not!"

"That's what I said." Another pat was given before walking away and Ser Jory gave a sympathetic face. "What...What was that about!? Hey! Wait up!" When Morrigan led the group back to the gates of Ostagar, Duncan was waiting for them back at camp for the Joining. These moments made Alistair's stomach tighten. Standing at Duncan's side, he did as instructed, speaking the words since the First. Out of the three friends he could have made, only one survived. Despite the horrible deaths, he was relieved to have the one who did live even though the others did not. Unfortunately, there wasn't time to mourn. There was a tower to climb and a beacon to light. The battle lines had been drawn and it was time to stand up and fight, be it victory or death in trying.


	5. When Not to Point Fingers

Maybe Duncan sensed it; the betrayal that would come with this battle. Maybe his warden blood allowed him to know how Loghain was a coward, a traitor, and a murderer? Maybe he just sensed the how the darkspawn were tunneling into the tower? As Alistair stood on the banks of the swamp pacing back and forth, all of these thoughts came to mind. The question above all of them was why he survived while nearly everyone else had died. Another question also came to his mind as he replayed the final moments in his head. As a giant ogre was about to smash its oversized fist onto his beaten body, for possibly the last time considering how battered he was already, _why_ did it stop? No, he knew why. It had been frozen solid.

There was a blinding, white light and the monster suddenly froze in place which gave him just enough time to jump up using pure adrenaline and stab the beast not just once or twice, but three times for good measure. Unfortunately, everything that had happened afterwards a giant blur. This is what he was desperately trying to remember while waiting outside of Flemeth’s hut. The only other survivor from the tower had barely made it and all this warden could do was simply wait and pray. Still, how did the darkspawn freeze? There was that one mage who could do such a thing certainly, but was pretty dead already.

_At least I’m pretty sure he died after having his head bitten off,_ Alistair thought. The other guard, who had followed up the stairs, didn’t even make it that far. _Torn in half, the poor sod._ This meant the only ones left standing were himself, who can't even do a proper card trick, and…

"You can stop grieving now. Your friend is in one piece." Flemeth's gruff voice interrupted the inner monologue long enough for him to no longer be concerned about darkspawn popsicles.

"You. You're alive,” he said as he saw his frail-looking companion emerge from the hut’s doorway. Holding a bandaged side, Izarre gave a reluctant nod. He had taken a nasty blow to the chest just before being rescued. It was a blow not meant for him, he had shielded his fellow warden from it without thinking. "I'm so sorry about that.” The taller of the two knew very well he should have been the one injured and not his friend. To his surprise, his apology was shrugged at and dismissed. What was done was done. With the two of them together once again, the crazy, old woman began to detail what had happened to the rest of the army.

"But what about Fergus? I need to find him," Izarre voiced worry for his still missing sibling.

"Do not concern yourself with such small matters. There is a Blight to deal with and you are a warden." Looking to Alistair, he truly wondered if the wardens even still existed anymore between just the two of them. "And you have your treaties, other allies."

"Can we really do that? Raise and army and take on the Blight?" Alistair then asked while trying to understand the logic behind this, if there was any to be found, and looked to his companion for all the answers.

"...We don't have a choice,” was said after considering their very short list of options. “If stopping a Blight is what it takes to get revenge for my family and find my brother, then I'll stop it. With or without you." The sharp words stung more than expected.

"Well if you're going, then I'm going too. We need to work together."

"Mother, dinner is ready..." Morrigan finally came from the hut, only to be stared at. The sudden announcement of her departure was unexpected news to everyone. As Alistair loudly voiced his objection, Izarre gave a nod, but as he turned to leave, what she said stopped him dead in his tracks. "Two mages for this little hike through the woods is excessive Mother. I don't need to..."

"Nonsense, girl. The more the merrier! That boy needs proper training . Think of it as an adventure!" An annoyed sigh followed.

"Very well, Mother." Alistair had also turned to leave before overhearing the conversation.

"Two mages? Training?" he asked looking to the old woman and her daughter. Izarre decided to continue the walk ahead in hopes that this wouldn't be dragged out into the open, but he was never _that_ lucky. "I knew it!” was yelled as a finger pointed. “You ARE a mage. Wait, why didn't you tell me?”

"I'm not a mage!” was snapped while still holding a bruised side. “Don’t call me that!"

"You shouldn't be ashamed to be what you are, boy." Flemeth's voice was louder than his protesting and current bickering. Morrigan could only watch and rub her brow as she tried to get rid the pain manifesting there. "Well, don't just stand there, girl. Be on your way." Sighing again, she walked between the childish men.

"If you two don't stop arguing, the darkspawn will come to back just to shut you up.” Her wild, yellow eyes turned to look directly at Alistair. “Especially you." Taking a step back, he slightly stammered.

"Me? What did I do?"

"Must I state the obvious?" At least the infighting was between Alistair and Morrigan now, leaving Izarre's magical powers out of the conversation.

"Enough already or I'll throw you both at the horde and do this alone,” he laughed while pushing past.

"Fine, but I'm keeping away from her. I much rather take my chances with you than some bitchy...spell-flinger." After throwing up his arms, he moved to walk side-by-side with him instead.

" _Bitchy spell-flinger_? My, my, that's so original." Some distance was allowed before she followed, giving one last look to the hut and her mother. Her harsh expression dropped for just a second as regret washed over. When she turned back to face her new company, the charade of icy uncaring returned to mask whatever lingering feelings were left. Alistair remained silent most of the way, his thoughts dwelling on Duncan's final moments. His expression of grief nearly matched Izarre's, whose eyes searched desperately for any sign of his brother. The sentiment was shared with Fergus's mabari hound as it sniffed heavily any trace of its master.

The trail, or lack thereof, out of the Wilds and to the small town of Lothering was full of dangers. The wolves and other wild beasts driven out of their homes from the marching darkspawn were on edge and constantly attacked. There were also giant rodents, insects, and other pests who were in search of food or had been driven mad by taint. Morrigan, from her distance, watched the subtle closeness Alistair shared with the younger warden. He insisted on doing little things such as holding up tree branches, offering a hand across slickened moss-covered rocks and logs, or even running ahead to make sure it was safe. She was all but surprised the oversized knight didn't cover puddles with his own body or offer his back to be ridden on. She also noticed how Izarre hardly ever took such offerings of chivalry and instead cleared brush with hurdled jumps, cut away low hanging vines with his dagger, or found easier paths to walk around questionable areas.

The few times he did take a hand or duck under a held-up branch however, Alistair would light up brighter than the sun and carry a smile for hours at a time. It made her positively nauseous.


	6. How Not to Flee the Blight

Lothering was a mess. It had been abandoned by the local guard and pillaged for its remaining goods and resources. Bandits had claimed the roads and backfields while the handful of Templars left tried to protect the Chantry as if it would stop the darkspawn. Bodies littered the road into the town and bandits were posted just outside the gate to rob anyone fleeing the blindly. Alistair was impressed with his companion for having the restraint enough not to kill them outright, if by restraint, he meant they had been giving to chance to run for their lives while only missing a few fingers and all of their gold.

The Chantry, while currently protected, was still no sort of refuge from the looks of it. It was instead an overstuffed building filled with people who should have already been long gone. Outside, the local bar had enough cutthroat-types to start infighting over the scraps. There was something about a woman with red hair that always meant trouble. This one was even dressed as a cloister sister. “Shouldn’t we… uh… help?” Izarred was asked by his friend as he leaned over the counter to buy a round of drinks.

“Give me your boot knife then.”

“Boot knife?” Upon handing it over, Alistair saw it gracefully tossed into one of the rowdy men’s jugular. It was a move which made woman pause with a hand around the victim's throat because of the sudden spray of blood.

“Helped.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant, but hey! The drinks are here. That's much more important, right?" The fight was soon over as the ale was soon gone. When the noise stopped, the knife was retrieved from the dead man’s throat and given back to its owner by the one who threw it in the first place. “Why, thank you,” the taller warden teased as he shook the blood from the it before putting it back in his ankle holster.

“Such a gentleman,” spoke the redhead as she walked up to the pair. “Not exactly defending a lady’s honour, but it was quite a display.”

“What honour were you about to lose?” Izarre smirked at her as he looked around to examine the bodies. “This wasn’t a fair fight. At least, not for their point of view."

“No… No it wasn’t,” she replied with a solemn face. “I’m Leliana, by the way, and I’m here to follow you.” Both wardens raised their eyebrows while looking at each other.

“Sorry, Can you…clarify?” asked Alistair, even though he didn’t really want to know.

“The Maker told me to be that I needed to be with you.”

“Yes, well, that clears it up then, doesn’t it?” he laughed uneasily. “Sorry, but we’re uh… all stocked up on crazy here.”

“You’ve seen me fight, what I can do.” It was true; the woman could hold her own in the most unconventional ways. It was something which did admittedly intrigued them both.

“Fine, but you’re buying your own drinks," said her so-called rescuer.

“Yes, you heard what he said. No means...what?!” Alistair exclaimed. “You can’t be serious!”

“I remember you saying something about there being not enough women in our organization...”

“Sure, in the WARDENS,” he argued, but stopped himself with a defeated look upon his face. “Maker, you’re serious, aren’t you?” There was a heavy sigh at the nod he received. “Fine… FINE… Let’s just pick up every stray we find and throw them at this Blight. That’ll stop them.”

“Why do you think you’re here?” he was then teased, although it was almost lovingly.

“Isn’t that the truth,” he grumbled as he looked to Leliana once again. Well, she was pretty, even for a sister, …and making flirtatious body language to his... friend. With a loud cough, pushed himself to stand between them. “Alright, fine, but I hope you like mages…OOF! Ow…” A sharp elbow had found a way to his gut. Outside of the tavern, Morrigan had come back from buying more supplies and nearly scaring a merchant half to death. Out of the corner of his eye, Izarre caught a glimpse of white hair and jade eyes similar to his own, but only for a brief moment before it had vanished. While Leliana didn’t mind mages so much, Sten was more difficult to get a reading on.

“So, you are a mage then?” she asked as she trotted along. “Funny. You don’t _look_ like an apostate.”

“Do apostates have a certain way of dress now?” gripped Morrigan as she walked behind closer to the ever-stoic qunari.

“No, no I didn’t mean that. I simply meant that most mages are…”

“Dress-wearing cowards who are useless without a mage staff?” There was noticeable discontent in the Cousland's voice on the subject and he tried his best to ignore the rest of the conversation while continuing to press onwards towards the edge of the Brecilian Forest. Alistair stopped walking entirely as a long howl could be heard through the trees.

“Well, that’s ominous,” he whispered. “Are you sure you want to go in there?”

“I don’t think _want_ has anything to do with it."

“Well said,” Morrigan approved as she used her staff to move the brush of leaves and twigs out of the way from in front of their path. “But if you’re too scared Alistair, maybe you should wait here. Would you like to hold my coin purse as well?” A smile cracked across her face. “It seems as though you may have left yours back at Ostagar.”

“My coin purse? What are you…?” It took a minute for him to realize she was talking about his testicles. “Oh,” he said flatly afterwards. “Cute.” While Leliana and Sten followed her into the forest, Izarre stayed behind.

“Don’t let her get to you,” he said as he took a step towards him with a comforting smile.

“She doesn’t get to me, but do _you_ trust her?” There was a look in her direction before turning back with an answer.

“No,” was said, but there was some gibe to it. “I don’t trust anyone.”

“Not even me?” Alistair laughed as he used an arm to push away the returned branches. The gesture was waited for and accepted without the usual protests.

“Especially you." A gentle nudge indicated how it wasn't meant to be taken seriously, but misinterpreted.

“So, you... don’t trust me?” The tone was serious and the hurt could be plainly seen.

“Only if you’re walking behind me. Who knows what you’re planning to do back there,” Izarre winked in an attempt to cheer the man up, but it only caused more embarrassment. Alistair’s cheeks turned bright red and he looked away quickly. Ahead, the rest of the group had stopped at twin statues of stone wolves.

“Elves,” Sten finally spoke.


	7. What Not to Say to Your 'Secret' Crush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A few lines of dialogue have been taken directly from the game or have been paraphrased from game dialogue. Anything recognizable as game dialogue is not mine, and I bow to the BioWare writing team.)

In truth, Izarre never really liked the elves. It wasn’t that he had anything against them personally, but being _elf-like_ among other humans had always made him an outcast. _Beautiful_ was what they called his long, moonlight-colored hair. _Mysterious_ was another word used entirely too much to describe his smooth, pale skin. Let’s not forget the word, _delicate_. Above all, he hated being called delicate. His high ponytail and loose bangs allowed for the rounded ear tips to be seen, which at least stopped the more racist questions about his heritage being asked to his face.

The forest had plenty of low-hanging branches for Alistair to move out of the way, but something had been stopping him from doing so. There hadn’t been any sort of hands offered when crossing rickety bridges or any running ahead to check for signs of trouble. In fact, for most of the hike, all he did was remain in the background and fiddle with some flower he had picked. He was also strangely quiet, a reprieve for Morrigan while Izarre felt uneasy about it.

“So, I guess we’re going in there?” the witch said as she pointed out a ruin in the distance. “I can smell dog shit from a mile away. This seems as good of a place as any to hunt for the rest of those cursed wolves who keep trying to slaughter us.” With the oldest of the two wardens keeping to himself, the newest member had little choice but to take the lead. Being his first ruin, he assumed what they found in its depths was normal. There were demons from the Fade, reanimated undead bodies, and lots of random scribbles regarding some ancient civilization which supposedly housed both elves and humans.

“Why are there so many ghosts here?!” Leliana said in frustration as they had passed what had to be their third or fourth encounter.

“Looks like the Veil is torn quite a bit,” answered Morrigan. “Do you know what that is or does your _mage denial_ make you just another ignorant apostate?” It was a comment meant for Izarre, but a nasty glare was shot in her direction for saying such a thing by everyone else.

“I know what the Veil is,” the accused stated plainly as he walked causally though the haunting images with a bit of annoyance in his step. It didn’t take long to make their way down to the bottom of a stone pit where his suspicions were confirmed, but eventually put to rest as the curse was ended. Though he didn't saying it at the time, Alistair found himself impressed with the mercy given to the humans and avoidance of what would have been an easily escalated war between them and the Dalish.

“ _’We all struggle with our nature',_ ” he mumbled while pacing back and forth in front of the firepit when back at camp. Izarre was busy setting up the inside of his own tent a few paces away, but Leliana heard the voice loud and clear.

“It’s a very true statement. He’s young, but there is great wisdom there,” she said with a smile while walking over. “You’ve been dwelling on that for a while now. Something on your mind?” 

“No, well… Yes, actually.” He paused as he looked towards the tent where he could see the small shadow still shuffling around on the inside. “So… you’re female, right?”

“I am? That’s news. When did that happen?” she taunted while acting surprised.

“I just wanted some advice.” He moved his gaze towards her. “What should I do if… if I think a woman …or… something… was special and…”

“You want to woo her? Or _him_ maybe? Here’s a good tip: You shouldn’t question them about their female-ness." There was a soft laugh. “Or lack thereof.” He sighed, feeling as if he already had messed that one up back at Ostagar.

“All right, yes. Good point.” With a tilted head, she became more serious.

“Why do you ask? Are you afraid things will not proceed naturally?”

“Why would they?” he frowned. “Especially when I do things like ask women if they’re female.” Putting an armored hand to his face, it rubbed between his eyes until taken down in a comforting gesture.

“It adds to your charm, Alistair,” she assured him. “You’re a little… awkward. It is endearing.”

“So,” he asked as he raised his eyebrows in confusion. “I should be awkward? Didn’t you just say _not_ to do things like that?”

“Just…be yourself. You do know how to do that, don’t you?” Finished laying down his bedding, Izarre came out from the tent only to see Alistair shooing the attractive woman away suspiciously. He was curious to what that was all about, but thought it best not to ask.

“Izzy, here. Look at this. Do you know what this is?” he was questioned as a not-so-well-hidden rose came out to tickle his nose.

“Izzy?” The new nickname was strange to hear and he attempted to gently bat the red thing away. “Your… new weapon of choice? You’ve been thumbing that for a while now.”

“I picked it in Lothering,” was smiled as it was pulled away to carefully pet its delicate petals. “I remember thinking, " _How could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much…despair and ugliness?"_  I should have left it alone, but then the darkspawn would come and their taint would just destroy it. So…"

“So?” Izarre asked, trying to figure out what was going on. He crossed his arms and took a step back defensively. “What do you intend to do with it?” The answer was hesitated.

“I thought that I might… give it to you, actually.” An even more puzzled look was given in response. “In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you.” It then turned into shock before anger.

“So you think of me as…what? Some gentle flower?” It was obvious the intent had be lost and was taken to be as an offense instead.

“A gentle flower?” Alistair laughed as he tried to defuse the situation. “No, I don’t know that I’d put it that way.” Izarre’s face softened a bit, but he still looked peeved. “I guess it’s a bit silly, isn’t it? I just thought… here I am doing all this complaining and you haven’t exactly been having a good time yourself.” Arms had at least uncrossed at this. “You’ve had none of the good experiences of being a Grey Warden since your Joining.”

“There are good experiences?” the friend sarcastically questioned in a half-joking manner, but Alistair nodded as he had meant every word.

“I thought… I don’t know,” he took a second to rub his chin while looking away. “I thought that maybe I could say something.” His eyes rotated back down to stare into the confused, jade orbs. “To tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this… darkness.” With that, Izarre finally smiled with as he accepted the gift and took a flirtatious step forward.

“So, are we married now?” It was a jest, obviously, but it didn’t stop Alistair’s face from turning tomato-red as he took a confident step backwards.

“Ha! You won’t land me that easily! I guess it was, uh, just a stupid impulse, but…I don’t know. Was it…the wrong one?” The flower was examined by the one holding it for a moment before being placed to rest behind an ear. The brilliant crimson stood out amongst the white hair like a fresh splatter of blood. His face was also a bit pink as such light skin easily displayed a different kind of rosey.

“No, it wasn’t. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it," he sighed in relief while butterflies attacked the inside of his gut. "Now… if we could move right on past this awkward …embarrassing stage and get right to the steamy bits, I’d appreciate it.”

“Sounds good. Just finished putting the bedding down."

“Bluff called! Damn… Saw right through me.”

“Oh, a bluff? ...Why must it be a bluff?” Taking another step forward, they were nearly pressed together now.

“Well, it doesn’t _have_ to be…” Looking at the tent, he suddenly cleared his throat as he had been obviously considering as much. “I’ll be… I’ll be standing over here. Until the blushing stops… Just… Just to be safe.” His posture straightened. “You know how it is.”

“Right. You get first watch then." Heels turned to leave Alistair alone and once by himself, he released his held-in breath so hard that he had to squat down to the ground before being able to lift his body up to stand again. 


	8. How to Have a Really Awkward Family Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A few lines of dialogue have been taken directly from the game or have been paraphrased from game dialogue. Anything recognizable as game dialogue is not mine and I bow to the BioWare writing team.)

Outside of Redcliffe, Alistair pulled Izarre over to the side away from the rest of their party. “Look, can we talk for a moment?” he asked nervously while looking towards the town. “I need to tell you something I, ah, should probably have told you earlier.” The shorter warden crossed his arms, considering all of the many, _many_ things this could possibly be about. He also had some serious doubts it wasn’t something he already knew anyway.

“I’m not going to like this, am I?” was asked at the thin arms unwounded themselves when the hesitation to speak up lingered longer than expected. Looking to the ground.

“I don’t know. I doubt it,” he shrugged as he looked up. “I never liked it, that’s for sure.” A long, draw-out sigh came out before he managed to speak again. “I told you that I was raised by Arl Eamon, right?” There was a nod and raised eyebrow.

“And I was raised by Teryn and Teryn Cousland. Who cares?” The point of bringing this up especially now couldn't be figured out, but the man just sort of smiled a bit. He was happy to have this connection though, at least when it came to their upbringing. Sort of.

“Well, I’m sure that was because you were such an adorable orphan. Me, not so much,” he laughed at his own memories before shaking his head. “No, the reason he raised me was because…well…”

“Spit it out, Alistair." There was this uneasy feeling to their private chat which matched the looks they were being given from a distance by their other companions.

“Well, because… my father,” he spoke softly as he lost his smile. “…was King Maric. Which made Cailan my… half-brother, I suppose.” Izarre looked confused and took a step forward to close the gap between them.

“So, you’re not just a bastard, but a _royal_ bastard?” was asked in a hushed voice.

“Ha!” Alistair laughed loud enough to make heads turn before he quieted himself down. “Yes, I guess it does. I should use that line more often.”

“Think it would help?” his friend smirked, but he shook his head as he tried to get back on track.

“Izzy, I would have told you sooner but… it never really meant anything to me. I was _inconvenient_ , a possible threat to Cailan’s rule… and so they kept me a secret. I’ve never talked about it to anyone.” Izarre’s lips pressed together at this. Being adopted into a noble family himself, he understood all too well how the lines of succession worked and gave a sympathetic expression. “Look, everyone who knew either resented me for it or they coddled me. Even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it. I didn’t…” He paused as he reached out to touch the small shoulder in front of him. “I didn’t want you to know as long as possible. I’m sorry.”

“But, does Loghain know?” It was a troubling thought there was an attempt to take out both of King Maric’s sons in a single swoop.

“Why wouldn’t he?” he asked while sounding surprised. “He was King Maric’s best friend. I don’t know if that means anything though. I certainly never considered the idea that it might ever be important.” To that, he was pulled away from.

“You should consider it, Alistair. Bastard or not, you’re a possible heir to the throne.” There was a frown just thinking about that and a quick shake of the head.

“Let’s hope not. I’m a son of a commoner and a Grey Warden to boot. It was made very clear to me early on that there was no room for me raising any rebellions or such nonsense. I’m sure you were given the same speeches.”

“I don’t share a bloodline.”

“As far as the rest of the world is concerned, neither do I. Besides, if there is an heir to be found, it’s Arl Eamon himself… though… if he’s really as sick as we’ve heard…” They grew silent. “No, I don’t want to think about that. I really don’t.”

“Alistair…”

“No, just no,” he said firmly putting his hands up. “So, there you have it. Now we can move on and I’ll just pretend you still think I’m some nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens.” Izarre scoffed at that.

“So, what does that make me?”

“That makes you… the reason I think we have a chance of setting things right… among other things.”

As Alistair walked off into the sunset, Izarre found him to be a bit more heroic. He wasn’t _exactly_ the same cowardly warden that was met in Ostagar. Something was beginning to change, but he wasn’t sure if the change was within himself or with the other man. Or both. Unfortunately, the moment of reflection was abruptly interrupted when a screaming young man from town ran up on Alistair in a panic. Apparently, the walking undead wasn’t just something found in old forest ruins. The town was completely overrun with them and had been killing the townsfolk night after night. Inside of the barricaded Chantry, everyone ran into his uncle. Sort of.

There, Bann Teagan explained how hordes of undead had been constantly attacking the town since Arl Eamon took ill and how in the next few hours, they would be attacking the wrecked town yet again. How to help the town was something to consider as Izarre also knew that he needed the support of the Arl for many things now and not just with the darkspawn. The game of political musical chairs always went better when the participants had _family_ support. To Alistair’s surprise, he decided not only to help, but also actually managed to do so by gathering local support and increasing morale. He also made some of the best threats his fellow warden had ever heard. To add insult to injury, despite being scrawny and short, he was somehow able to kick down a few steel-bolted doors as well. It was amazing how much work got done before dusk when the night settled in. Upon a hill, in full moonlight, undead swarmed from the castle only to get ripped apart by their group. A second wave hit the lower levels, but had the same amount of luck as the first.

When the sun finally rose, the corpses fell to the ground as if they were just mere puppets who had their strings freshly cut. Returning to the cliff to speak with Bann Teagan only made things worse. The Lady Isolde had plenty of secrets, enough to raise suspension from everyone she spoke to. After beating back more of the animated skeletons inside Redcliffe castle, her secrets finally surfaced. The great evil she spoke of earlier was actually her own son, Connor. He was a young lad, no more than twelve, and had torn the Veil while making a contract with a demon in order to save his dying father. The Arlessa had hired an apostate to train her son in secret, who had been showing signs of magic. What she didn’t know at the time was that the apostate had his own secret deal with Teryn Loghain to take the Arl out of the running for future king.

Without Arl Eamon to challenge Loghain for control of the throne due to his blood relation to the former King Cailen, Loghain’s victory was inevitable. However, something unlikely happened. The blood mage tried to make up for his treachery, feeling guilty for his crime, and offered to _cure_ Connor’s affliction by sending another mage to the Fade to slay the demon which possessed the child, but Izarre didn’t like it. It involved blood magic and a sacrifice. The very idea left a bad taste in his mouth. Lucky for him, there was another way. The Mage Tower held both enough mages and lyrium to create the ritual in other way, one that did not involve killing the boy’s mother. Not to mention, as Alistair reminded him, the mages _did_ owe the Grey Warden’s their allegiance.


	9. How to Make a First Kiss Memorable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A few lines of dialogue have been taken directly from the game or have been paraphrased from game dialogue. Anything recognizable as game dialogue is not mine and I bow to the BioWare writing team.)

Alistair had found himself to be incredibly happy lately for someone who was about to fight off the Blight and who had just found out that his _sister_ was just a gold-digging wench. While in Denerim to restock on supplies before heading over to the Mage Tower, Izarre had surprised him with a little gift. It wasn’t something silly as a rose ( _because who in their right mind would give another man a flower?_ ), but was instead a little more personal. They had stopped in the middle in The Wonders of Thedas for a quick look around. As he peered up from his hunt of golem figurines, he saw something glisten in the light. “I found this at Redcliffe in the Arl’s study," was said to him to get his full attention.

“You off robbing people again?” he teased.

“Old habits die hard, I guess. Here.” A locket was slipped into his fingers and it took a moment to realize what he was just given, more focused on having the gentle touch linger for just a little while longer.

“This... This is my mother’s amulet. It has to be.” He held up the engraved silver heart by its chain and let the jewelry twirl in front of his eyes to be certain. “But why isn’t it broken?” Confused, he clutched the necklace in hand. “You found it in the Arl’s study? Then he must have found it… after I…” Brown eyes narrowed as he tried to think. “He had it repaired and kept it? Why would he do that?”

“I don’t think he hated you, Alistair,” was responded reassuringly. “Fathers or those we think of as them can have… a way of showing they love you, even if you don’t think they do.” He was turned away as a memory surfaced which had its own effect on Izarre.

“I guess you’re right,” he said with a sympathetic smile. Thank you.” The gratitude was accepted and he stepped away from to go look at another display table, but he followed along anyway. “Did you remember me mentioning it?” There was a smirk over the idea of someone actually paying him any attention. He was answered by a prompt, but playful shove. Unfortunately, it caused him to lose his balance and slam into the table which then caused a crystal orb to fall and shatter upon the stone floor. Morrigan moaned in disdain as Izarre face-palmed himself before pulling out his coin purse to pay for the damages. “Sorry! SORRY! “he stammered embarrassingly as he attempted to pick up the fragile pieces by hand, only to have them shatter in his armored fingertips. “I’ll… clean that up.”

It was outside of Denerim when the happiness quickly fled. No one was surprised to learn of Loghain hiring a bunch of assassins to try to kill them. It _did_ , however, come as a surprise to nearly everyone, _especially Alistair_ , when allowed for one of them to join their little party afterward. It also didn’t take very to notice that they were no longer walking side-by-side on their way to the Mage Tower. Izarre and Zevran walked ahead while making each other laugh with inside jokes, playful fighting, and reminiscing about what it was like to grow up on the streets as a thieving urchin. When it started to get dark, the little warden then decided that it was a good time to make camp seeing as how their destination was still a day’s walk away. Once settled, he wandered off to fetch some clean water from a nearby lake alone, but Alistair was quick to follow when he thought no one was looking. While he didn’t make any noise with his sneaking, he was found out before even saying anything

“What do you want, Alistair?” Izarre asked with his back turned. He was in the lake, seemingly nude, and looked busy in search of something below the water’s surface. The lake wasn’t massive, but big enough to have some depth to it with a small waterfall on the opposite side. The view of him in the clear water with the moonlight reflecting on his long, wet, white hair and glimmering pale skin was a sight to behold. The ponytail had come down, allowing for the hair to flow in a trail behind him. He turned to face his friend after a moment and swam closer until his feet could touch the rocky bottom. This let him stand about waist deep in and look curiously towards the man on the shore to wonder why he had been chased after. The other warden had opened his mouth to speak, but no words would come out. “Take off your armor and come in here. You’re starting to smell ripe.”

“Hey, I don’t smell! Wait, do I?” An arm lifted to be sniffed and was immediately placed back down as he pulled away from his own scent. “Right. Give me a moment.” There was a lot of clambering before the heavy plate armor finally came off and he stood in just his small clothes. There was some consideration made on if he should actually take them off or not, but as he looked out at the lake and saw a flash of a bare backside, he decided to mimic the behavior. “Ah! COLD!” was yelped while tip-toeing through the water. He walked out until the bottom anymore couldn't be felt anymore and swam out the rest of the way. Izarre had been busy diving down with a small dagger to dig up clams. He had a small pile of them already near the shoreline. When he came up this time, he found himself chest-to-chest with the broad, older man. “This is what you’ve been doing? Fishing?” he was asked. He nodded and attempted to dive down again, but his arm was grabbed. “Wait, I actually came out here to ask you something.” Surprised, he remained still with the exception of running his fingers through overgrown, wet bangs to clear his eyes. The opportunity was taken for them to be looked directly into. “I’m uh... I’ve been wondering about Zervan, really. It seems like the two of you have become quite…  _friendly_.”

“I suppose we have,” he shrugged since he had taken a liking to saucy Antivan. It was nice to have someone to talk to about certain things.

“I’m just curious… Maybe it’s inappropriate of me to ask, but what are your _intentions_ towards him?”

“Intentions?" The question was a bit abrupt. "You mean do I plan on killing him later? No, I gave him my word, Alistair. He’s not a bad guy.”

“I didn’t mean that… I meant… is it serious? If... If you’ll tell me... that is… Please tell me…”

“Serious about what?” Now he was even more confused.

“I was under the...  _impression_ … that the two of you were… romantically involved?”

“ _What?_ ” A nasty glare was shot and the stammering warden began to panic.

“I would have said something sooner, but I didn’t know how to put it without sounding jealous!” While nearly shouting, Alistair winced up to prepare himself for getting punched in the face. Indeed, a fist was balled up with its arm pulled back, but the last bit caused the bearer to relax mostly due to blushing.

“Jealous? Why would you… I mean,” Izarre mumbled a bit himself as he bashfully tucked a wet strand of hair nervously behind an ear. “Why would you be jealous? Zervan is just someone I like to chat with…” The lack of getting hurt let Alistair relax as well.

“I needed to get that off my chest, so let me ask you something else.” Reaching out, he caressed a pale, wet, pink cheek in front of him. “Do you have any feelings towards me?” Nothing was said, but there was an uncontrollable smile which came from being petted. “I know it… might sound strange, considering we haven’t known each other for very long, but I’ve come to… care for you. A great deal.” The green eyes rotated up to look at the expression on his face. Unlike the other 99% of the time, it was actually quite confidant, calm, and serious. He smiled a bit more reassured and removed his hand for a second to scratch behind his own head with a small laugh. “I think maybe it’s because we’ve gone through so much together. Or maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I’m fooling myself.” Reaching out, he took his friend’s face with both hands and pressed their noses together. “Am I? Fooling myself? Or do you think you might ever… feel the same way about me?” Izarre was left speechless, his lips quivering from both the chill in the water and the fluttering in his chest. His eyelids began to close themselves while his body leaned into their collected warmth as they kissed. He had lost all sense of time before Alistair pulled away. “So I fooled you, did I? Good to know,” he was teased as their lips still touched and heated breath mingled. Hands had found a comfortable place to be underwater just above his backside as he was held close. “But what about Zevran? I don’t like the idea of leading him on.” 

“I don’t think you’re leading him on,” was snickered after regaining some senses, but Alistair frowned as he removed one of his hands to lift the small chin.

“You know what I mean. Either you’re with him… or you’re with me.” 

“ _You’re_ the one that told me that I was involved with him. No one, not even Zevran, was thinking that.”

“I know. I’m sorry for the accusations I just…” But before he could finish his apology, he was kissed once again roughly and pushed back as Izarre swam to shore.

“We better head back,” was said while standing there naked and dripping-wet while gathering the collection of shells. Alistair shivered after he had followed and climbed out of the water. He hadn't really thought this through as there was nothing to dry off with and plate armor made for a poor towel. “Let me help." For the first time, he was covered in fire that didn’t hurt and the sight of it amazed him like no other wonder had done before. The flames were strangely tinted blue, and didn't heat up more so than simply take the cold away. There water vanished from his skin and left him completely dry.

“How did you…? Wow, just…wow.”

“Dealing with the cold seems to be my specialty. I didn't want to use actual fire... I like you too much for that. Get dressed and let’s head back before they send a search party.”


	10. How to Make a Second Kiss Memorable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A few lines of dialogue have been taken directly from the game or have been paraphrased from game dialogue. Anything recognizable as game dialogue is not mine and I bow to the BioWare writing team.)

In the center of Lake Calenhad stood a great tower choked to the brim full of mages. It wasn’t a place where anyone in the party wanted to go to. In fact, Morrigan flat out refused and suggested someone guard the docks instead, just in case another assassin decided to sneak up behind them. Izarre didn’t believe a word of her ranting, but opted to only take a small group inside so they wouldn’t be confused for storming the keep. Leliana had no qualms about visiting the mages and Alistair insisted that he not be left behind. He wasn’t himself today, Izzare thought. There was a gleam to his eyes and a shroud of darkness ever since they arrived. On the dock, he turned to the other warden while trying to keep his voice low. “Are you sure you should be going in there?" Alistair looked down at him, serious and stoic.

"Why shouldn’t I?” 

“You’re a _mage_ , remember? An apostate really. You never belonged to the tower.” He took a step forward to run his fingers though overgrown, white bangs. “What if they, I don’t know, try something?” Izarre smiled a bit as he leaned into the caress once it had been made clear as to what had been bothering his friend this entire time.

“I’m a warden now. The Chantry can’t condemn me anymore,” but paused as he looked to former would-be Templar. “Can they?” The taller man shrugged, unsure of that himself, and returned his gaze across the lake. The rickety, small boat trip carried the three to the entrance where a pair of guards allowed them to pass. Up and around a corridor stood the Knight-Commander, visibly shaken and pale. Abominations and blood mages had taken control. The requested task to ensure an alliance between Wardens and mages was not simple. If the First Enchanter lived, the Templars would postpone the Right of Annulment and not kill every remaining mage because they feared corruption. The words struck Izarre deeply, even more so when Alistair agreed.

“The Templars know what they are doing,” he tried to explain the reasoning, but it only caused more frustration. Past the sealed doors were a small group of mages, among them was an elderly woman by the name of Wynne. She spoke on behalf of her people, those who were as much the victims here as much as the Templars themselves. There were even quite a few children, forcing Alistair to reconsider his stance. Yes, he had been trained to be vigilant when it came to magic, but he had also taken a mage close to his heart; A mage who was fortunate enough not to have been in the tower when it fell to demons. “I’m coming with you. I won’t stand here to watch these kids be killed for something they didn’t do.”

“I’m coming as well. Demons are foul creatures cast away from the Maker’s embrace. They will not remain in control of this place,” Leliana said with some vigor. As Alistair stood beside his comrades, his eyes looked down as he gave a confidant smile. He was doing the right thing and it felt good to know that. When the barrier dissipated, to say that all hell broke loose would be an understatement. Hordes of demons attacked the group, but quickly fell to Izarre’s rage. They were attracted to his magic, taunting him whenever they could. Alistair had never been in the tower before and took a moment to realize how this place could feel like a prison. Ravaged bodies littered the ground, their insides torn apart by claws, teeth, and blades. He saw monstrous alters created from human remains, demons violating enthralled bodies of both men and women, and the burned carcasses of children freshly taken from their homes only to die here. He wanted to look away, but forced himself to stare at every lost soul. It wasn’t about the dangers of magic anymore. This was a massacre of innocent people which could have been prevented.

As they ascended through the wreckage, they came upon a curious room where a demon laid in wait. In an instant, everything got lost in a fog. Izarre awoke to a strange sight. He could see lines, as if the world around him had been patchworked together from scraps of cloth. There was also Duncan, he thought, but this face was distorted and wrong. The voice Duncan spoke as he remembered it to be, but it would echo in harsh tones and whispers. It didn’t take the young mage that long to figure out the demon out. It tried to argue, but was quickly slain as if swatting a fly. He did the same to Alistair’s captors as well. Leliana was next, followed by Wynne before they met the master of this realm. It was ugly, for sure, dressed in tight bondage to cover its mangled body and burnt skin, but for all its boasting, it was overwhelmed fairly easily. The final victory came as the group killed the blood mage responsible and freed the First Enchanter. The wardens had successfully gained their allies as well as a way to ensure Conner’s safety back in Redcliffe. With enchanters and lyrium in tow, they returned to the castle and conducted the ritual suggested by Jowan. A mage was needed to go through the Fade and he reluctantly volunteered. As his soul entered the realm, his body crumpled to the floor to be caught by Alistair. All that could be done was to wait. Hours passed before the body being held so gently and protectively in strong arms stirred once again, but to Izarre himself, it only felt like a few minutes. The demon was dead and Conner had finally come to with no memory of his transgressions. A grateful Arlessa offered the heroes room and board for the night after they had promised to search for the Urn of Sacred Ashes the next day.

He was exhausted from back to back trips to the Fade, making him very grateful for the time he got to spend alone soaking in a steel tub of near boiling water and the chance to change into something other than mud-caked armor. The clothes provided came with giggling handmaids to dress him as he was accustomed to. The long shirt was deep blue, made of the finest silks. The pants were polished, black leather, pulled to be half-undone once the girls were disappointingly led out. Alistair saw the line of them leaving as he walked down the hallway and let himself into the bedroom. He had changed as well, but was only given simple cotton and wool garments after a rough body scrub with a rag and a bucket of lukewarm water. Even now, Isolde still did not favor him in the slightest. On the mattress, Izarre sat there removing the flowers from decorative braids put in his hair by the maids. He was used to entertaining this way through his mother’s conditioning. As the door was shut after letting himself in, Alistair couldn’t help but chuckle as he moved to sit down next to him. “Here, let me help,” he offered as he carefully plucked a lily out and undid one of the larger braids. “There. Do you always get done up like that by girls?” he teased afterward while nudging his friend with his shoulder. The pampered young man let out a sigh to confirm the suspicions.

“Pretty much.” The conversation quickly went stale as Izarre attempted to lock eyes. They had kissed once before, but not again since. There was tension here full of expectations, want, and desire. Reaching out, a warm hand against was placed on his pale cheek.

“I…actually came here to talk about what happened with Conner.” He looked surprised, but nodded as he pulled away to stand.

“You were there. You saw what happened.” Alistair stood as well and remained close.

“Yes, I know. I just wanted to thank you. You went out of your way to save the Arl’s family and you did it, even though it would have been easier not to.” With a small shrug, Izarre bashfully turned away. He felt uneasy being praised, but by someone he really liked, even more so. “There’s been so much death and destruction, it…well,” was paused with a sigh. “It makes me feel good that at least we were able to save something, no matter how small. I owed the Arl that much.”

“If we stop the Blight, we’ll save much more,” the smaller companion said firmly as he leaned against a far wall still hiding his face.

“You’re right…but…”

“But?”

“Hopefully by that time, there’s still enough of Ferelden left to save.”

“There will be, Alistair. Don’t worry.” Turning, he found himself pinned.

“Good,” was whispered with hands pressed against the wall now. His muscled arms had trapped the object of his affection. “Now that the warm, fuzzy part of the day is over with, we can get back to the ritual dismemberments… Oh, wait. It’s not Tuesday, is it?”

“...Is that all you wanted?” Feeling flustered, Alistair blushed a bit as he leaned in to affectionately touch foreheads as his itchy wool shirt was being tugged near the bottom.

“…If I say no, will you be angry?

“I’d be angry if you said yes,” was smirked. He had to pull the face down to get a decent kiss in. It was just as warm as their first time, but their lips trembled a bit less. Still, it was a gentle thing that ended all too soon.

“I should…go,” Alistair said reluctantly as he pulled away, but his arm was caught before he got too far.

“You should stay.”

“You mean you want me to join you? In your room?” There was an uneasy laugh attached to the end of the question. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be nervous,” he quickly apologized as he took the thin hands into his own. “I must sound like a fool.”

“A bit,” was smiled up at him, but wasn’t at all turned off by the flustered behavior. It was endearing.

“It’s just… you know I’ve never done anything like this. With… anyone. I was quite sheltered after all.” Still, he couldn’t find the strength to leave. “I care for you so much. Whenever I think of this, I feel like a bumbling idiot! I’m just all… hands!” Pales hands were taken to his chest to provide evidence of the rapid heartbeat there. “Feel how crazy I am about you, Izzy. I wish I could be better at this… I want this to be right.”

“I think… this is about as right as it gets.”

“In my uncle’s house, freshly cleaned up from being soaked in demon’s blood with the darkspawn on our heels, death awaiting us at every turn? Sure, why not? Hot.”

“At least the bed is comfortable?”

“Well,” he purred leaning in to rub noses with. “I’m willing to give it a shot if you are.” The hair-grabbed kiss he was suddenly yanked down into was his answer.


	11. How to Get Struck by Lightning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A few lines of dialogue have been taken directly from the game or have been paraphrased from game dialogue. Anything recognizable as game dialogue is not mine and I bow to the BioWare writing team.)

Alistair grunted as he bit into Izarre’s nude shoulder. Their tops had been removed in a hurry and tossed on the floor somewhere in a corner after accidently ripping the silk while pulling at the collar to kiss the pale neck underneath. He was more than happy to be rid of the itchy, cheap, wool tunic and would be free of the skin-tight pants as soon as the eager man beneath him would finish at ripping away the leather strings they were tied with. Stealing another kiss, he bit and tugged at the soft, bottom lip while locking eyes with a devious grin as his erection broke free from its bonds. The way it was handled afterwards made his entire body stiffen. The hand grabbing his manhood wasn’t shy in the least bit as it stroked and rubbed tenderly, its thumb paying special attention to the exposed tip. With his hands braced against the wall in front, all he could do was breathe heavily in between lingering lip locking and gentle nuzzles. His eyes closed tightly until bitten in return for attention. Raising an eyebrow, he stared in shock as he watched Izzy drop to his knees and… “ _Maker have mercy.”_

The first peck to the throbbing knob sent shivers down his spine. The second was followed by a teasing lick and a few strokes up and down the shaft. The third had forced him to ball his fingers into fists and bang against the stone. His teeth clamped as to not cry out as his sex was taken into an eager mouth and throat. Looking down, he saw endless, silver hair swish back and forth with the occasional glance of submissive green eyes. His grabbed onto hips began to thrusts on their own as his exposed rear-end tightened its muscles. His panting was as if he had just run cross-country from a horde of darkspawn and an unclenched fist lowered to run its fingers through the silky strands brushing against his groin and thighs.

Izarre leaned into the touch and repositioned the shaky hand against his cheek. Its thumb caressed his face gently as he continued to suckle. He could feel stiffness increasing against his tongue and the growth pressing harder against his palette as it neared its peak. Fingers moved to caress over one of his round ears, but soon grabbed the hair on the back of his head and forced him to move faster. Grunts and moans grew more and more demanding and the final push forward filled him with warm, creamy juices. It coaxed the back of his throat and tingled everywhere else it had spilled. Swallowing was nearly impossible until being allowed to place the spent head to twitch against his face, shooting the remainder anywhere it pleased. He stood to meet the visibly worn out Alistair and walked away to pour a glass of wine, but his arm was grabbed and promptly pulled back. “Where do you think you’re going?” was asked. Before he could answer, he was pinned with his back against wall yet again. “I’m not done ravaging you.” A probing tongue thoroughly invaded his mouth despite the mess inside and he was soon lifted up to be carried over to the bed. After being dropped off, he was crawled on top of and nosed lovingly against the side of his still-moist face. Alistair created a trail of red marks as he made his way south to the black leather pants and undid them by ripping apart the drawstrings with brute strength. He had seen Izarre’s naked body before, but it wasn’t as nearly as arousing back then. Removing the last bit of clothing between them, he was a bit surprised by the pinkish erection twitching against the toned, white stomach. It was already wet from anticipation and the little rosebud underneath looked as equally inviting. A curious poke made him notice how it was dry with the exception of a bit of sweat and caused Izarre to look uncomfortable. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” the other warden answered as he realized his partner didn’t know really know anything about sex, especially this kind. “Can you… turn around for a bit?”

“Turn around?” He looked confused, but did as he was told since taking directions was something he did rather well. Sitting on his knees, he turned his back to give the man some privacy. Izarre used this time to reach over onto the nightstand and dig into his pack. He pulled out a tin container and twisted its top off. Alistair heard the shuffling behind him, but kept his word of looking away until the scent of warm peaches and spice tickled his nostrils. After taking in a big whiff, he peeked to see what it was. “Is someone making a pie?” he asked, but froze as he saw Izarre with his skinny legs lifted just enough to finger himself. The smell had come from the opened canister which was a freshly-crafted warming balm made of several sweet herbs melted together with fire crystal fragments into a creamy solution.

“Alistair!” was exclaimed embarrassingly on the bed, but found his ankles being held up before he could put them back down. His opening twitched vividly from being fondled and gapped just a bit from being probed so recently.

“Well, I could have done _that_ ,” the man now in charge of the situation smirked as he kept a grip with just one hand. The other reached to smear fingers in the canned substance and moved in to finish what had been started. The flinching this time wasn’t out of discomfort. The thick fingers slid easily inside as his rim squeezed around them. Slowly, they moved back and forth as he wiggled while grabbing the sheets. The pale-pink stiffness jumped uncontrollably at this. Not one to shy away from returning favors, Alistair took it as begging for attention. While his fingers continued to slip in and out, he released the legs from the other hand and grabbed the sex with it instead. He could feel the quickened pulse through the blue veins as he gave it a squeeze. Thin thighs spread apart to give him room as the rest of his body moved in, though not to penetrate. His head lowered for a test lick, pausing to take in the slightly salty taste. Figuring it wasn't so bad, his mouth engulfed the rest as his fingers scissored the stretchy ring. He found himself murring in response to moans and grunts, his breath catching in his throat when it was thrusted into. Pulling off, he moved further south to mouth the fleshy sack, diving his digits in as deep as they would go before removing them entirely. "Better?"

“Much,” Izarre smiled breathlessly as he released the hold he had on the bedding. His thin arms draped around broad shoulders instead. Leaning up, he bit at Alistair’s pouty bottom lip again, giving it a domineering tug as he scratched at the man’s back while being lined up with. “You can move now.” Alistair didn’t have to be told twice and put his hips to work. The heat between them was delirious and intense. They moaned together, thrusting and pushing their bodies in unison. Izarre was moved to his side as he was taken from behind. It was easier this way, even though Alistair was getting clawed up by elegant fingertips. In retaliation, he scratched back and made sure to leave red lines down the soft skin of the leg in front of him while his other hand clenched the slim throat enough to hold it in place while nipping at the porcelain neck.

“I’m…again,” he warned as he forced himself inside one last time to spill his seed a second time and flooded Izarre’s inner depths to the point where he could feel it in his stomach. He shut his eyes tightly upon his release, burying his moist forehead in the back of the soft, white hair until his body stopped shaking. After he unclenched his fingers, he finally came out of his daze to squeeze the smaller frame affectionately. “You know, according to all the sisters at the monastery, I should have been struck by lightning by now.”

“It could still happen,” Izarre chuckled breathlessly, obviously a bit worn out from all the work and from being short of breath from being choked.

“Sure, but if get hit by the lightning afterwards, it hardly seems like an effective deterrent,” was whispered into an ear as its shell was rubbed by a warm nose. “You do realize that the rest of our little party here is going to talk, right? They… tend to do that.”

“You’re the worse of them all.”

“Ha! I am, aren’t I?”

“First smart comment and I feed them to the darkspawn,” he smiled and rolled to turn his face to his lover. “Including you.”

“See, this is why I love you.” Despite the joke, the look was serious. “I do, you know? Love you, I mean. I really do.” The pale cheeks blushed brightly as the jade eyes turned away.

“Oh… Okay.”

“That… wasn’t really the answer I was looking for,” the larger man cooed, but the new shade of red of the bashful warden’s face told him everything he needed to know. “But… what now? Where do we go from here?”

“To sleep?”

“You’re so practical. You make me proud,” he continued to tease while actually getting quite comfortable where he was. He had yet to pull out and Izarre hadn’t really made any attempt to move either.

“There’s still a horde of darkspawn to deal with.” With his eyes closed, Alistair sighed.

“All right, I get the hint. We have a lot to do, right? We still have the dwarves to contend with, Arl Howe… and Loghain. Ugh. I had almost forgotten. Does sex always make everything seem… I don’t know… better?”

“If you do it right,” he was taunted right back before being removed from the soft, little cave he had grown accustom to. While hissing in pain at the sudden extraction of his manhood from the happiest place it had ever been, his partner stood up to clean off. His eyes opened to watch the man find a rag to wipe himself with, but turned away to the ceiling as he was glared at for staring. “Well, we do have a lot to do…” After Izarre finished, he found himself being straddled. “…And… Hello…? What do you think you’re doing up there?” he grinned, knowing full well why he was being mounted.

“Making sure you really do get struck by lightning.”

“If what we did just a moment ago didn’t do the trick, what makes you think it’ll happen now?”

“That was just a warm-up,” was said as the lubricant was taken in hand, but this time it was his own legs going up into the air.

“Fair enough,” he laughed as hands gripped the sheets. “Challenge accepted, but if I'm walking funny tomorrow, you'll be the one carrying the heavy stuff.” It was going to be a long night for the pair, but they deserved a bit of restlessness. 


	12. How Not to Declare Someone a King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A few lines of dialogue have been taken directly from the game or have been paraphrased from game dialogue. Anything recognizable as game dialogue is not mine and I bow to the BioWare writing team.)

Trying to figure out where a little, secluded mountain town was which held the Urn of Sacred Ashes was not an easy task and Izarre never claimed to be a navigator. It was hardly a surprise to anyone that they got lost a few times. The first time seemed like a blessing. They stumbled across one of King Cailan’s guards as he was executed by Loghain’s men. The small miracle came as they retrieved some information, prompting Alistair to ask for a return trip to Ostagar later. The second time getting lost, he swore this particular town was the right one before having to save a little girl from a possessed cat. At least they manage to get a smart-mouthed golem out of the deal. It was another welcome addition to their ever-growing family. Cutting through the fields helped them see what the war Loghain had started was truly like. He was forcing other noble families to give up their rightful lands by volunteering them over or by being taken like Highever. Every soldier the general commanded had the same face as those who killed the Cousland family in Izarre's mind and he was beginning to become unhinged, noticed most of all by his concerned lover. Alistair saw the desperation and recklessness beginning to manifest, but he couldn’t blame him for it.

Finally, Haven was found. It had such a pretty name for how gloomy-looking of a village it was. _The alters covered in human blood didn’t help much either_. After coming across a few bodies of Redcliffe soldiers, the villagers exposed themselves to be part of a dragon-worshiping cult. Brother Genitivi was freed from his bonds, but was too injured to proceed to the urn. Up the mountain's path and beyond a hidden door was a temple built around Andraste’s final resting place. Leliana was overwhelmed by this while Morrigan only concerned herself with the sheer amount of dragonlings and drakes in the area. Despite the opposition, they pushed through to meet with a man calling himself Father Kolgrim. It was a curious thing, a male _father_ based on the Cult of Andraste who was also stupid enough to believe that the Bride of the Maker had come back as a dragon. It wasn’t a particularly powerful one either and easily bested as they emerged from the other side. The actual temple they were looking for was far deeper into the mountain, hidden behind jagged cliffs and snow. Inside was a spirit of sorts; a powerful guardian who claimed to be one of Andreste’s original disciples. His duty was to protect the Urn of Sacred Ashes until the fall of Tevinter. While it would have been easier to just fight the supernatural being, the apparition wanted to talk instead.

“Do you think you failed your parents?” he asked Izarre, but the young man refused to answer so he moved on. “You could have shielded him from the killing blow,” he said to Alistair about Duncan. “You wonder, don’t you, if you should have died and not him?” Leliana was next. “You say the Maker speaks to you when we all know that the Maker has left. He only spoke to Andraste. Do you believer yourself Her equal?” The woman was shocked being asked such a thing and stammered in her response. Morrigan refused to even listen to her question entirely and shooed the ghost away. Everyone got a turn, all being asked about their deepest regrets and most private secrets. Beyond the first set of questions were other spirits who offered riddles instead, all relating to both life in general and the life of Andraste. Each companion seemed to know the answer that was most relevant to their own personality. Alistair realized his inner jealously while Izarre was quick to acknowledge wanting revenge. The second trial had been passed. After moving behind the large room though, they were stopped by the visage of a noble man. Izarre’s blood turned cold as his heart clutched tightly inside of his chest. “…Father?” The spirit smiled in acknowledgement, but there was sadness there.

“My dearest child,” Bryce Cousland spoke. “You know that I am gone. All your prayers and wishes will not bring me back.” The adopted son turned away in agony, his lips pressed tightly together. “I see the pain and anger you carry.” An ethereal hand came to brush his bangs away and turn his chin up. “I know you fear to give it voice, but rest assured, my child, the Maker knows your heart.” Wispy fingers wiped away a tear from one of the green eyes. “Now go, carry with you my love and my forgiveness, pup.” As he looked down again, the spirit vanished from existence and left him there in silence. Alistair put a hand to his shoulder, but jumped away at the touch.

“We need to go,” he said and began to walk forward after refusing to be comforted. There was plenty left to do before they could reach the urn. Alistair clenched his fist at being rejected, but kept quiet for now. He knew there was no point of dragging this out. Beyond the ghosts was a phantom bridge which relied on the trust of friends to cross it. After much bickering, near death falls, and swearing, they finally made it across in one piece. The final trial had something to with fire and placing your faith in the Maker. Leliana made a quick translation of the riddle. “Basically,” she said with a giggle. “Get naked and step through the flames.” While she showed no shame with her own undressing, she found herself having to coax Alistair out of his armor after promising not to look. Izarre was less timid, though was covered with the other's warden's body so no one else could have the pleasure. Closing their eyes, they crossed the flames and reopened their lids to find themselves completely dressed and out of danger.

Within their reach was the prize and everyone fell silent as Izarre took a pinch of the ashes into a small cloth pouch. The way back to Redcliffe was easier without an angry cult or giant lizards chasing them. Isolde immediately complained that only a tiny bit of ash was brought back, but it was more than enough to wake the Arl out of his coma. In his chambers, Teagan, Alistair, and Izarre briefed him on current events. Jowan was given to the Circle as a sign of mercy pushed by his fellow mage, but there was still the matter of what to do with Loghain and the throne of Ferelden. “Teagan and I have a claim through marriage, but we would seem opportunists,” Eamon claimed. “No better than Loghain… but Alistair.” The man in question felt his hair stand on end at the mention of his name. “Alistair’s claim is by blood.”

“And what about me?” the royal bastard protested. “Does anyone care what I want?”

“You have a responsibility, Alistair! Without you, Loghain wins. Is that what you want?” he was rebutted.

“I…but I,” he could only stammer and sigh. “No, my lord.”

“And we would like your blessing.” Izarre had to be nudged before realizing the Arl was speaking to him.

“What? My blessing? Why?”

“I am a credible enough figure in this nation to call the Landsmeet, but I hold no illusions that I could face Loghain without you,” the noble man said with his eyes narrowing. “Surely, _you_ see that.” The young warden narrowed his eyes as well, questioning whether or not he was actually needed or was being used. Either way, he also didn’t stand a chance unless Eamon supported their cause.

“Then… I say we proceed with your plan.”

“That settles it then. It will take some time to recall my forces and organize our allies. I would prefer to wait until that is done before calling the Landsmeet,” Eamon nodded as he paced back and forth in thought. “In the meantime, I suggest you rest then pursue the remainder of the Grey Warden treaties. We will need all the allies we can get if we are to defeat the darkspawn horde. You had rooms last time you were here, yes?” The party all agreed. “Return to those and I’ll have you attended to… but Alistair, I would like to see you alone for a moment.” The look of concern was obvious on both men.

“Right… I’ll be with you in soon, love,” he smiled to Izzy and stole a quick kiss. The young man nodded, but glared in Eamon’s direction before turning to leave. The distrust but necessary truce for now was apparent and Alistair watched him go. A held-in breath was released as the guard closed the heavy double doors behind him. Turning to the Arl, he stood his ground at the steps to the elevated platform in front. Eamon had watched the kiss goodbye and immediately shook his head in disapproval.

“So, it’s as I feared then,” he said as he came from his stage. “You and that boy are close. Too close.”

“I frankly don’t see how that’s any of your business… I mean, no offense, my lord, but…”

“You’re to be king, Alistair. A king cannot…”

“Cannot what? Fall in love? The only thing I noticed kings can’t seem to do is be discrete about their affairs. Good thing I don’t plan on having any of those…”

“You overstep.” There was a irritated groan at being reprimanded.

“Look, I don’t _want_ to be king… but I have to weigh my options. I’m _willing_ to do that, at least. We still have to secure the Dwarven treaty and call the Landsmeet before anything else can happen. How about we do what we have to first before you start telling me about who I can and cannot be with?” Eamon was surprised at Alistair’s tone towards him, but understood this argument would go nowhere so long as they had more pressing matters to attend to.

“Fair enough. Have a good rest and Maker be with you.” Alistair bowed slightly before he turned to walk away. The guards let him out and he headed down to meet Izarre in their room. A part of him felt pretty good about giving the Arl a piece of his mind, but his stride soon flattered as he realized that he just _gave the Arl a piece of his mind._

“Ah…balls,” he said to himself as he opened the door. “Hey Izzy, I’m sorry about…that. Izzy? Are you alright?” The room had been trashed. The furniture had been flipped, clothes tossed about, and the Cousland family sword had been stabbed into the mattress, surrounded by white feathers. In a corner sat the defeated-looking warden with his hair covering his face like a veil. “Izzy? Izzy, are you okay?” He moved to kneel down to brush it aside only to see the pale face he loved so much now streaked with tears and red from crying. 


	13. Why You Shouldn't Return To Ostagar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A few lines of dialogue have been taken directly from the game or have been paraphrased from game dialogue. Anything recognizable as game dialogue is not mine and I bow to the BioWare writing team.)

Alistair panicked as he took off the armored gloves to dry his loved one’s face. “Who did this to you?” he asked while trying to keep his rage in check, but the look Izarre gave him before jerking away was rather accusatory. “Did I…do something?” Again, there was no answer as watched the young man stand to quickly wipe away the remaining tears. He stood as well, frowning as he had to keep guessing at the problem. “It’s about me being king, isn’t it? Well, if it makes you that upset then I won’t do it.” It seemed like the right thing to say, but he became unhinged once again as he was scoffed at.

“I’m not worried about you being king,” Izarre said flatly as he pushed his hair from his eyes. “Who said anything about that?”

“Well, _I’m_ worried about being king,” Alistair grumbled as he crossed his arms. “But if you’re not then why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying,” was the lie told.

“Uh huh,” the nonbeliever said. “And I’m the Viscount of Kirkwall.” Izarre sniffled loudly at the bad joke. “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on or should I just start cleaning up feathers?”  Letting out an exhausted sigh, the smaller warden finally relaxed as he flopped on top of the floor mattress. It caused the feathers in questions to flutter every which way. Even more so after he yanked the sword out and tilted it to look at his family crest.

“I saw my father back there, you know. It was just a flicker. I know it wasn’t really him, but…”

“Oh,” Alistair frowned as he remembered.  He moved to sit down next to his lover, kicking up a few bits of fluff in the process. “I had almost forgotten about that…Is that what…?”

“He said he forgave me, but _the Maker knows_ what I’m thinking even if I don’t talk about it.”

“What _are_ you thinking, Izzy?” Alistair’s voice remained calm and collected as he let go of his own problems for the moment.

“That I want to drive this sword into Arl Howe’s skull. That I want to make Loghain feel what everyone else did when he betrayed them at the end. That… _sting_. I don’t want to just kill them, Alistair. I want to _hurt_ them.” It was a brutally honest confession, something the other warden understood very well. To it, he nodded as he looked down and took Izarre’s free hand with his own.

“We’ll get them both, I promise you.”

“It’s eating me alive. This… _sickness_. I never felt like this before.” The green eyes turned upward. “Not just vengeance. I…I can’t control myself when it comes to you either.”

“You…want to stab me with that sword, do you?” teased the future king and Izarre shook his head with a smile.

“I’m sure I’ll get to _stab_ you one day Alistair, but I’m also pretty sure that I’ll have to get you very, _very_ drunk first. It shouldn’t be too difficult though…”

 “Well, that’s good,” Alistair laughed as he gave the hand a squeeze.  “Wait? What?” Izarre shrugged coyly with a smirk. “Right…Well, I can’t control myself around you either. I also may have… said some things to Arl Eamon that I shouldn’t have, in hindsight, but I meant every word so…”

“What did you say?”

“Oh…something about how I’m madly in love with you and that I really have no idea what being king will mean for us. Not quite sure what I said, to be honest. Was sort of in a _frenzy_.”

“You don’t know what will happen to us when you’re king? What’s that supposed to mean?” The statement had peeked Izarre’s interest.

“Well…this isn’t really the time for this conversation. Let’s…just talk about this later. All I want to know right now is if you’re okay?” While the younger warden wasn’t exactly happy with that answer, he nodded just the same as he put the sword down on the floor. “Good. So, we can either get this armor off and get a few hours of much needed sleep before trying to charm the pants off of dwarves tomorrow…or…”

“Do you really want to see a dwarf with no pants on?” Alistair laughed and shuddered at the thought.

“Ew, not really no...but I wouldn’t mind seeing _you_ without any on…if possible,” he grinned as he leaned over to nip at the plump pair of lips in front of him. “If you’re feeling up to it?” Despite the seemingly bad timing to be getting hit on, Izarre had been cheered up by the cheesy jokes and encouragement. It was something Alistair did without even trying.

“You may get feathers stuck in places.”

“A risk I’m willing to take!”

Before heading to the mountains the next morning, a few things needed to be taken care of first. Alistair insisted on returning to Ostagar, now overrun by darkspawn. The snow-covered battlefield, littered with the bodies of fallen soldiers and wardens alike, was a sight to behold. The monsters had defiled what they could, including Duncan’s original camp site. Alistair felt his stomach churn as he searched the remains for anything his former commander may have left behind. In the corner of his eye, something glinted in the sunlight to catch his attention. Squatting down, he reached out to tip over a silver cup.  “What is that?” Izarre asked as he noticed the shimmer as well.

“It’s the Joining Chalice,” answered the saddened man as he held it up. Darkspawn blood still encrusted the rim and Izarre shivered in remembrance. He was also surprised when it was stowed away in their pack. “We should keep looking around.” Despite the Alistair’s obvious depression, he still remained extremely vigilant against the attacking hordes. It was if a switch had been flipped inside of him. “They’re leading us somewhere. Nowhere good, I take it.” He froze as he looked up to see a crucified body. “ _Make_ r.”  On the edge of a bridge they were crossing was King Cailan’s body, stripped bare, violated, and ravaged. Izarre frowned at the sight as he stood there taking in the fact that his new romantic interest and the former king did, in fact, look an awful lot alike and for the flip of a coin, their places could have easily been reversed. Alistair stood staring as well, though his expression very different. He too thought on what could have been had their places were switched. Would he be up there as Cailan was now? Would Cailan have made a better warden with the ability to save Duncan? Would Izarre be standing here in Cailan’s arms staring up at his body instead?

“Alistair, are you alright?” Wynne asked from behind.

“Ugh,” he answered as his face cringed up. “They left him here to rot. We need to do something.” Izarre nodded in agreement though kept his eyes up at the maimed mounted body.

“He was a good man,” Alistair sighed as he looked down. “Who hoped too much and died too young. He deserves what little honor we can afford to grant him. Climb up on my shoulders, Izzy. Let’s see if we can bring him down, alright?” They managed to pull the mangled man off the rusty spikes as Wynne and the others gathered scraps of wood for a makeshift pyre.

“Help me light the fire, young one,” she said to the young mage as she positioned him to hold out his hand. Their fingers ignited and a small blaze lit the pile to burn the corpse to ash. It was her way of tutoring the warden apostate without saying so out loud. Together, everyone took a step back and stood as a group to watch King Maric’s heir be put to rest.

“That’s going to attract the darkspawn,” Alistair said as he pulled out his sword. “But let them come.” His prediction was correct as the hordes soon started to gather to the east, but pulled back into the Tower of Ishal.  “Feel like going hunting, love?”

“Always,” Izarre smiled as he removed his sword and dagger from his back.

“Wynne? Feeling up for a bit of sport?” The woman giggled at Alistair’s question.

“I think I can manage,” she replied with a wink.

“Right, off we go then.” Running towards the tower again felt like deja-vu, but this time, Alistair wasn’t busy complaining about how he got signal duty. Instead, he mowed down the defilers without hesitation. He even looked as if he was enjoying it. Inside the tower, the massive hole used for when the darkspawn tunneled their way into the fortress in the first place was still exposed and there were _a lot_ of spiders down there, but it did lead to the main battlefield just outside the fortress’s walls. And there it was; the remains of the giant ogre that had taken the lives of both Duncan and King Cailan.

Seeing both of their swords sticking out of the belly of the beast was disheartening. It was almost if they had been left there on purpose as a reminder of their failure to stop the darkspawn. Alistair could recognize who they belonged to immediately. “Wait here,” he said as he walked up to the massive corpse. Kneeling down, he reached out to take Duncan’s sword by the hilt but as he did, a shock ran through his body. A vision flashed before his eyes. It was that of Duncan’s final moments as he helplessly watched Cailan’s untimely death right before his eyes and ended with the man’s own defeat. Reeling back, Alistair held his head as Izarre and Wynne ran up to join him.

“Alistair? Alistair? Are you alright?” His name being called freed him from the trance.

“I…I think so,” he stammered but watched in horror as the ogre began to move. “Watch out!” he yelled as he pushed his love into the snow. The first thing it did was an attempt to grab the smaller warden from behind, but Alistair had pushed him out of the way. It swatted Alistair a few meters across the field where he was dog-piled by hidden genlocks. “IZARRE!” The white-haired man stood to face the ogre alone as it stomped over. He dodged another attack and managed to take a swipe at one of its legs, but was shot in the back by an arrow into his shoulder. Wynne was quick to cast a barricading wall of flames to make short work of the archers in the distance as Alistair pummeled and sliced through the last of the genlocks.

Once freed, he immediately began to run towards his friends. Izarre had his weapons knocked away and was desperately trying to pry open the massive hand that had wrapped itself around his body. He was pulled up to the ogre’s face, his hair sniffed before his face was licked. Pushing the massive mouth and razor sharp teeth away, he struggled to manifest something. _Anything._ What good was being a mage if not for the ability to cast magic when you no longer had a decent weapon? A quick bolt of lightning came out to zap the ogre’s nose, but that only seemed to piss it off even more. The engorged fingers squeezed him again and forced out a painful scream from its victim as the young man hacked up blood before starting to go limp.

Alistair ran over, dropping his shield in the snow to grab his sword with both hands and impaled the blade through the monster’s knee.  The grip loosened as the beast collapsed from its wounded leg. Gathering the last of his strength, Izarre put his hands against the meaty prison around his body and began to freeze the entire gigantic hand. Once it turned to ice, he banged against the ogre’s fingers with his fists until the entire thing completely shattered apart. This only left a bloody frozen stump on the ogre’s arm as he fell to the ground. Removing his sword from the fresh wound, Alistair took the opportunity to jump onto the monster’s back and crawled up to its head.

“This is for Duncan!” he yelled as he stabbed through the horned skull. “And Cailan!” He shoved his sword inside a second time before lining up the blade against front of the monstrosity’s neck. Below, he locked eyes with his wounded lover as he pulled his arm swiftly to the side, slitting the throat and spraying a shower of blood over Izarre’s body. As the monster screamed and collapsed, Alistair rolled off into the snow and hurried to the other warden’s side. “It’s alright, love. Wynne will fix you right up.” It hurt to smile and laugh, but the younger warden did so anyway. He wanted to say something, but was unable to without coughing or holding his broken ribs. So, he relied on grabbing the back of Alistair’s head to pull him down for a kiss to get the message across instead.

In the distance, Wynne had the necromancer suspended in a Crushing Prison. As she tightened her fist, the spell pulverized it without mercy. Izarre was covered in crimson, being cradled gently in Alistair’s arms as she walked over. “Alright you two. Knock it off,” she teased as she came over to cast several healing spells. “We should get out of here before more darkspawn arrive. Gather him up and let’s head out.” Alistair nodded but stopped to look over at the ogre he had killed.

“Just a moment,” he said as he picked up his own sword. He moved to retrieve his dropped shield and Izarre’s family heirloom as well, but also did something unexpected. Picking up Izarre’s secondary dagger, he stabbed it, along with his own blade, into the beast’s chest and removed Duncan’s and Cailan’s swords.  He starred at both for a second in deep though, but ended up putting Duncan’s sword into his own empty holster while putting Cailan’s on his back. Afterward, he secured Izarre’s blade where it belonged before lifting him up with careful arms. “Ready when you are.”

Wynne had watched the scene with sentiment quietly. She nodded to Alistair and began to lead them out of the fortress. Once again, the two wardens and the elderly mage said goodbye to Ostager, but this time, they left with a little bit more hope.


	14. How to Try to Kill Your Mother

A campsite was made just outside of the snowy fortress due to Izarre’s injuries. Despite all of the magic used in an attempt to heal the wounds, Alistair still insisted on waiting for a full recovery. The younger warden was too tired to argue against the idea and relieved himself of command. It wasn’t as if he had asked to be in charge in the first place and found it surprisingly comforting to see Alistair step up when a leader was needed. If the Dalish, Mage, or Redcliff representatives had any questions, he would give a prompt answer. He even made schedules for guard duty, gathering supplies, and scouting. When not on watch himself, he would return to Izarre’s tent to curl up against his lover and slip into a deep sleep.

On the third day, he awoke alone sometime in the early morning just after dawn. The cloth bandages that were used to hold broken ribs in place had been left behind in a small, bloody pile off to the side. Crawling out, the half-asleep leader yawned and squinted at the rising sun as he saw nothing but glints of shining light to the melody of clanging metal. His brown eyes focused just enough to make out what appeared to be Zevran and Izarre sparring around the dormant fire pit.

“Oh ho, I see now see why you were bested by that ogre! You’re getting slow, my friend!”  The assassin mocked his frustrated opponent as he deflected nearly every hit Izarre attempted to land with simple dagger twirls. The warden growled at every failed lunge and swipe made by Duncan’s sword as Zevran easily danced around them. The stab to his back was barely parried by his family’s sword, but the knives were flicked around to cut off a small piece of loose long white hair from the tip of his ponytail. “And my trophy!” It was picked up after the duel was over by the brown-skinned Ativan who gave it a playful sniff. Izarre just grumbled as he stabbed the ground with both of his weapons. “Something tells me you know what’s wrong with you. You are holding back and…”

“Izzy,” Alistair interrupted as he walked up. He was turned to be looked at by both men, but while he smiled to his mate, the other got a disapproving glare.

“We can schedule a rematch later,” Zevran bowed, but kept his eyes to Alistair. They had a gentlemen’s agreement when it came to being within ten meters of each other. The gesture was returned before Alistair looked to Izarre.

“You shouldn’t be up fighting like this. You should…”

“I’m fine now,” Izarre snapped, still frustrated over losing the fight.

“You’re not fine. Look at how you’re fighting. You’re…”

“That’s…not because of my wounds. Those are healed.”

“It’s not?” Alistair questioned, not believing a word of it. “What is it then?” But he didn’t get an answer as Izarre plucked the two swords up as Morrigan walked over.

“If you’re quite done with your contest, I would speak to you on an important matter,” she said as she clutched her mother’s black book closely to her chest. “Tis better without prying eyes.”

“Anything you have to say, you can say it to the both of us,” said Alistair as he crossed his arms. While Morrigan furrowed her eyebrows in annoyance, she needed help badly enough as to put up with his nonsense.

“Fine, I need you… to kill my mother.” Such a bold statement shocked both wardens enough to drop whatever built-up tension was there.

“You…want us to what now?”

“Are you deaf as well as stupid? I need you to dispose of my mother…before does to me what she has done to her other daughters.” Holding up the book, she tapped the aged cover with an index finger and explained in detail how Flemeth repeatedly defied the aging process. Morrigan, in fear of her body being taken over, needed someone else to get rid of the old woman on her behalf. Izarre reluctantly agreed to her terms, if only to speak to Flemeth in private about the accusation. There was some admittance on her part, but neither warden found it very convincing. Whatever Flemeth truly was, she had saved them for reasons they didn’t understand and, at this point, didn’t really care to. A favor for a favor, they thought. Her life was spared and in return, they were given a book to satisfy her daughter’s curiosity. It was enough to convince Morrigan that her mother was gone, for now at least.

That evening, Izarre also pulled some strings of his own, finally convincing Alistair to pack up camp and move for Orzammar. Getting inside was only a matter of showing their credentials by means of the treaty, but obtaining any sort of cooperation once past the city’s walls was an entirely different matter. Orzammar stood on the brink of a civil war that divided the citizens between a traditionalist noble and a driven prince. If not for Bhelen’s brutal methods, Izarre may have taken the young royal’s side with new ideas involving open trade and a casteless system, but unfortunately killing guards in the street for only trying to keep the peace meant that the wardens turned their favored to Lord Harrowmont instead. He was a weak man, comfortable in tradition to be sure, but at least he wasn’t someone who insinuated riots.

Still, it miffed the party to be turned away from an audience with him unless they showed proof of their loyalty in the gladiatorial arena. The Proving Grounds held a sacred meaning to the Dwarves. It was where scores were settled when words and coin weren’t enough to repay a debt or mend an insult, but not everyone was happy when Izarre volunteered himself to be Harrowmont’s champion. “Wait,” Alistair whispered as he pulled his lover aside in the common waiting room just outside of the fighting zone. “Are you sure about this?”

“About Harrowmont?” Izarre asked and shrugged. “He seems less of a psychotic killer than Bhelen is; an old fool who lives in luxury and fear. We can use that to take control of his army for the Blight,” he answered as he adjusted his gloves straps, but was surprised as he was taken by the shoulders.

“That’s not what I meant. You’re about to go fight some of the fiercest warriors this place has to offer. Alone, mind you, and I saw you with Zevran.  You’re not…”

“How dare you!” Alistair’s face fell as he was pulled away from as he knew he had crossed a line, but it didn’t stop him from being worried. He had every bit of Izarre’s body converted to memory and was first to notice its ongoing deterioration. Something was  _wrong_ , but he couldn’t place as to what it was. “Do  _not_  confuse me for some helpless flower. I’m not some delicate thing in need of your constant protection. I never was and I never will be. I never asked for your help in the first place.”

“Warden? Are you ready to go?” the Proving Master interrupted their tense conversation. Turning, Izarre gave a nod. “Great.” He moved to head towards the exit with the irate white-haired combatant following, but Izarre’s arm was grabbed by Alistair once again. They stared at each other briefly, yet said nothing. Yanking the his limb away, Izarre continued to walk out of the arena. Alistair was hurt, putting his hand to his mouth trying not to scream profanities, and went to the balcony with the rest of his friends to watch the fight. Below, Izarre emerged from the double doors and looked up to his audience. Seeing how Alistair looked down at him was disheartening, but he needed to focus on the enemies in ahead.

The first few rounds were won without much difficulty. He played his role as champion, never calling for aid even when it was allowed. The final match was intended to be a group expedition, but as he faced them on his own, it proved to be more than he handle. After taking out the archer, Izarre was blindsided by a shield bash to the still wounded shoulder that never healed properly from Ostagar. Despite Wynne using several different healing spells, his body had begun to reject the beneficial magic. The Cousland sword dropped from his hand, only to be kicked to the edge of the arena by a stout Dwarven warrior before it could be retaken. A blind slash with Duncan’s sword only clashed against the iron-plated armor he wore as a stealthed rogue sliced the warden’s remaining sword arm. The second weapon fell to the ground and was kicked away as well. Bhelen’s fighters circled the warden’s crumbled and bleeding body, taunting him with kicks of dust and bravado for the crowd.

From the balcony, Alistair was being held back from jumping over the rail by Zevran as Wynne and Morrigan watched with stoic eyes. “Why does he hold back?” the younger mage snapped. “Tis a fool who limits their power such as this.” Wynne sighed in disapproval, but felt herself in agreement.

“He struggles with his nature, but I fear if he does not relinquish some control, it will be the end of him far too soon.”

“What are you talking about? What’s wrong with him?!” Alistair demanded to know as he finally broke free.

“Mages are…conduits. We are not vessels,” the elderly woman attempted to explain. “Magic flows through us like a river and is not meant to be contained. It you dam it up, it will eventually overflow and…”

“And destroy the dam,” Morrigan smiled as she watched the fight with some interest now. “Taking the village with it.”

“What?” Even though Alistair had no idea what any of that really meant, he still didn’t like the sound of it. “What do you mean by  _destroy the dam_?”

“My, such the slow one,” Morrigan teased as she rolled her eyes. “Your little friend down there refuses to use the magic building up inside. Tis turning against him.” Oh, now he understood.

 “IZZY!” Alistair yelled as he practically hung off the ledge. “Cast a spell!” but he couldn’t be heard with over the chanting crowd. The reluctant mage crotched on the ground, panting as he watched a puddle of his own blood grow larger beneath his feet. He could hear his heartbeat slowing down as if his time was nearly up. The cheers grew louder, but began to deafen as his eyes grew dark. With clenched fists, he forced himself to stand. The rogue tiptoed behind to put in a finishing blow in his back, but something happened. As the Dwarf swung the daggers, they hit nothing by air. The warden had ducked down and slashed at the leather-covered mid-section with nothing but an empty fist, so why did it hurt? Looking down, the fighter saw a large gash in his chest piece that was dangerously close to spilling his innards. The white-haired human was still posed with an extended arm, but fresh blood dripped from thin air in front of his hand.

“How?” the rogue muttered before falling to the ground. It was only from that angle when he could see the blades of a nearly invisible wing-shaped weapon. The sharp edges where made entirely out of ice and spanned in both directions nearly the length of the dwarf himself. The mage’s body erupted in a blue blaze as he moved to attack the warrior next. His other hand also had the same manifested weapon attached, but they pinged off the heavy armor and shield. Every deflected blow caused the ice to chip, bu ta snowy white cloud of magic puffed to instantly repair the edges every time. Unable to land a critical hit to turn the fight in his favor, Izarre jumped away instead and used both hands to punch the ground. The dirt rapidly crackled and froze over with no escape in sight. The ice captured the wounded archer, rouge, and finally the warrior in its web. It even crept halfway up the arena’s walls before the warden stopped himself.  Panting, he looked around as his flames dispelled. The stunned crowd fell silent and with no remaining champions to fight on Bhelen’s behalf, a winner was declared. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I would add this small FAQ at the end here since I'll be on a (hopefully) short hiatus until after my move to Japan next week until I get my apartment's internet up and running.
> 
> *Izarre's name is pronounced differently, depending on racial accents. 
> 
> Dwarves/Dalish: 'E-czar-ree'  
> Fereldin humans: 'Izz-ah-ree' (as in 'misery' without the m).  
> Orlesians: 'E-zah-ray'  
> Antivans: 'Izz-are-ree'  
> Alistair is the only one who says 'Izzy'.
> 
> *Izarre's name is based on Izar, meaning star, as explained in the first chapter because his hair is white (although he's not albino).
> 
> *While a fanfiction, this story still follows my heavily modded gameplay in Dragon Age: Origins pretty closely. Izarre is an elf mage model with many cosmetic changes that follows the human noble storyline. The weapons he creates in this chapter are based on a World of Warcraft warglaive dagger mod (as seen in a screenshot here: http://twitter.yfrog.com/z/1arrdhj)
> 
> *Thanks for reading! If you have any questions, feel free to leave a comment. I'll get back with you as soon as I can.


	15. Why You Should Stay out of the Deep Roads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A few lines of dialogue have been taken directly from the game or have been paraphrased from game dialogue. Anything recognizable as game dialogue is not mine and I bow to the BioWare writing team.)

Coming of the Proving Grounds, Izarre was greeted by his friends. Zevran quickly flattered him with many compliments and boasted about how not even the best assassin had yet to pull off such an invisible blade trick before. Wynne gently congratulated him not only on his victories, but also on the newfound mastery over his specialized element. Even Morrigan, in her own way, praised him somewhat before feeling sick of her own mushiness and demanded they hurry up to get back on the task at hand. Alistair, however, stood in the back with his arms folded over his chest in silence until the crowd parted quietly to make room for him.

There was a silent stare between himself and his lover until the arms unfolded and came around Izarre’s shoulders in a strong embrace. “I am so, so sorry,” he said as he held Izarre close. When pulling away, he still kept his hands on the smaller man’s shoulders to look into those surprised green eyes. “I should have never had doubted you, but I…” But before he could finish, Alistair found himself cross-eyed while staring at the pale finger placed upon his lips.

“No, you shouldn’t have,” smirked the warden in front of him. “Glad you came to your senses.” It was said in a teasing manner, something Alistair had grown to understand as a sign of both affection and forgiveness.

“Well, I’ll just have to make it up to you then,” he teased right back before the couple started to exchange small smiles and flirtatious snickering. It didn’t take long before Wynne had to separate them like children. Or dogs.

“Yes, yes, we all agree that Izarre recovered well, but by the skin of his teeth. You pull another stunt like that again, young man, and you won’t be so lucky. I am not as kind as the Dwarves!” Alistair put an arm around his partner and continued to smile until he was flicked on the nose by a bony, delicate finger. “Quiet you. You are in as much trouble as he is.” Holding his nose with his free hand, Alistair rubbed it as he whined nasally.

“Huh?” he asked with a bit of sulk in his voice. “What did I do?”

“Do you really have to ask?” Morrigan chimed in. “Don’t we have an appointment to keep with doing everyone else’s dirty work?” Zevran knew better than to stir the wrath of women, young or old, and decided it was best to only nod, keep quiet, and start heading toward Lord Harrowmont’s dwelling. In the private quarters of the man who would be the new king was yet another task. This time it was to flush out a criminal element in the underbelly of the city. Her name was Jarvia, leader of the local cartel. While the task seemed trivial, if not at all difficult, seeing the casteless thrown away like garage ruffled more than just a few feathers on Izarre’s head. He was one of these once, a wretched soul living on scraps in dirty rags as a child in Highever. Alistair was also noticeably disheartened by the living conditions as well as Zevran.

“These poor people,” Wynne said to herself as she stepped over piles of rotten food, rat-filled water supplies, and sleeping half-naked bodies.

“Why?” Morrigan asked. “They could easily rise up and take what they wanted if they truly wished it. They choose to live like this.”

“No one chooses to live like this,” Alistair said in a soft, but stern tone as if trying to remember every face he saw and he stopped by a young mother begging for money. She had been thrown out her family for having the same-sex child of a casteless man. Her family gave her the ultimatum of killing the infant or living in this part of the city. Izarre listened to her story, but soon walked away with quick steps back to the upper level. When on flat ground again past the crumbling staircase, he sprinted to the house of the woman’s parents to give them a piece of his mind. While his companions chased after him, Alistair blocked the entryway to give the pissed off warden room to berate the father who had thrown out his own child and grandchild all because of the origin of a baby’s birth. 

It took such verbal abuse for the father to admit to a mistake and sent the group back with a message for his daughter and her child to come home. It was one good deed for the Maker to smile upon as they shifted their attention back to hunting down street gangs. Jarvia met her end at the tip of Alistair’s sword, but that did not put to a stop to Harrowmont’s list of ridiculous favors. Apparently, all had been for nothing as the elderly Dwarf explained a change in development surrounding the race for the throne. A Paragon’s favor would seal the deal and one could be found in the Deep Roads.

While the Deep Roads was filled with many dangers, even for Grey Wardens, Izarre never thought that one of those dangers would be a drunk with red hair. It was also the second time he had been confused for a woman. Alistair couldn’t help but laugh at the case of mistaken identity which proved, at least in his mind, that he wasn’t the only one who could make such an error. “Large but chaste bosom indeed,” he also added as he elbowed Zevran for confirmation, but he was only met with a disapproving shaking head.

Oghren was a great warrior, or at least was at some point, before a bad marriage and heavy drinking got the best of him. In fact, he was constantly drunk even when there wasn’t any alcohol around. “How in the Maker’s name do you manage that?” Alistair asked. “Is anyone carrying any alcohol? Anyone at all?”

“Yer just jealous,” hiccupped their new tagalong into the underground darkspawn-filled maze that was the Deep Roads.

“A little, yes. Why can’t I be drunk all the time? I never get to be drunk.”

“You know, if you drank more wine, you would whine much less…”

“Oh, look. A drunken dwarf with jokes. How do we manage to be so lucky, Izzy?” Though both Izarre and Wynne refused to answer the childish bickering as Morrigan found herself in agreement with Oghren. 

“Wine? Is that all it would take to shut him up?”

“Heh, heh,” laughed the redhead in a most devious way. “That’s all it would take to get you to open up too…if ya catch my drift.”

“Oh! Clever! You know how I can open you up? Turning into a massive spider and eating you.”

“Heh, you want to…what?” Oghren asked as he finally caught on to what she said. “Hey, that’s not...Shh…Ya hear that? There’s something ahead.” 

Off the beaten path was a massive cliff where whispers could be heard echoing from beneath their feet. It might have been sheer curiosity or instinct of their tainted blood, but something compelled both wardens to explore the noise. In the chasm below were thousands of lights, each representing a darkspawn, but it was the earsplitting scream that forced both of them to their knees. With blurry vision, all they could do was watch the archdemon fly to a high perch with its massive, yet corroded wings. The gust of wind created from the flaps nearly knocked everyone off their feet. Even those without the dark call in the veins felt a sense of terror they had never known before. If death had a face, it was seen that very day.


	16. Why Betrayal is Worse than Death

“That’s,” stammered Alistair before finding his resolve. “That,” he began again with a stronger tone to his voice, “is the archdemon.”

“Which is why we need to hurry up and leave this place,” Izarre responded with a firm nod. It didn’t take the rest of the group much convincing as they scrambled to their feet once the way was clear. Being in the Deep Roads was as every bit as dangerous as the stories foretold. Darkspawn were literally in every corner from the smallest genlock to the hulking ogres. While both Alistair and Izarre barely survived their first few encounters with massive creatures before, something was different this time. There was a fire in their blood while down here. It was nearly intoxicating as they felt oddly livid and alive. Perhaps it was a new sense of purpose after seeing the corrupted dragon in person or simply being this close to the source of their taint ignited a much more primal spark in their senses.

Whatever it was, Oghren was all too happy to assist. The berserker in him had been pent up too long, watered down with booze and sexual frustration. Focusing on that rage allowed the dwarf to swing an axe nearly double his own size with tenacity, accuracy, and all around blunt force. Wynne attempted to keep herself focused on the task at hand, while Morrigan seemed occupied by something in the air she couldn’t quite put a finger on. Zevran, while enjoying a good fight, was much more timid around the large spiders and oozing eggs surrounding them. He and Leliana shared an equal concern for their attire and shoes. The only ones who didn’t seem bothered by one thing or the other were Shale, Sten, and Izarre’s faithful canine companion.  In fact, Shale was actually attempting to step on every spider she could manage just to hear that delightful crunching sound under her stone foot.

As both trail and evidence eventually led the way to Oghren’s missing Paragon wife, everyone suddenly became disturbed as they laid eyes upon what happened to those she left behind to die. Beyond the fleshy sacks on the wall was a ghoul. She had been abandoned by her Paragon, who also turned out to be her lover. While the curious revelation peaked Oghren’s more perverse interests, it was the thought that the woman he had loved turned her back on her entire house for a trinket which disturbed him on a level he couldn’t even describe. The Advil of the Void, despite its potential power and usage, was still a hunk of metal. It was not worth the bloodshed and lives lost, or even worse, complete betrayal of those who trusted and loved her.

The sentiment was shared in silence glances between Izarre and Alistair who, without putting voice to thought, made a promise to each other to never make the same mistake. Even Morrigan had nothing to say about it and instead turned her head from the scattered remains of countless bodies to follow the path to an opening, however what she saw turned her skin even more pale than it already was and she was forced to cover her mouth to hold in her screams. Hiding behind a wall, her fingers slowly lowered from her lips as her bosom heaved to gasp for air. Concerned, Izarre attempted to understand what was so terrible as to be able to frighten the likes of a Witch of the Wilds. As he walked ahead, Alistair and the rest of the group followed to peer around the bend. The large Broodmother there rubbed at her multiple deformed breasts and the twisting tentacles surrounding her lower half moved as if they each had a mind of their own.  The taunts of the remaining ghoul woman confirmed the fears everyone in the group had, but were too ashamed to put into words.

“To survive down here, one must consume the flesh of other darkspawn. The blood should kill you…but if it doesn’t, you will become something far worse,” Alistair said as he readied his sword and shield. Zevran looked with concern toward both wardens.

“And you? This will eventually happen to you as well?” he asked and was startled when Izarre peered over his shoulder with a nod.

“That taint will take us eventually. No one can resist the call forever. Not even a warden,” the white-haired one confirmed. Biting his bottom lip, the assassin removed his daggers from their holsters.

“Not today, my friend. It shall not take you today.” The other party members turned their focus to battle, following a charge led by Alistair’s command. The beast was enormous and embodied everything worth fighting against.  When she called other darkspawn to her side, they were met with fierce opposition, but it was Oghren who proved his mettle. “Nasty, bleeding,” he cursed as he climbed mound upon mound of pale fat sacks and crusted nipples until reaching the point where he could stand above the monster’s head. Removing his axe from his back, he cursed the name of his wife and family before slamming the oversized decapitator into the back of the Broodmother’s neck.  The screams and spray of blood caused everyone to stop from their own personal battles as the tentacles began to wiggle violently in place. Removing the axe from the fresh wound, Oghren chopped over and over again, each strike more intense than the last. With every hit landed, he cursed again until the there was nothing left but a heap of pus and chunks of flesh.   
  
“Oghren. Oghren! You can stop now,” Alistair tried to say, but even back on the ground, the dwarf continued to hack away at the body until he was out of breath and painted crimson red. Picking up his weapon for a final time, he turned and gave a ferocious battle cry in victory.   
  
“Now I can stop,” he grunted as he put his axe in place on his back before pushing past the wardens to head towards the presumed exit.  Izarre looked to Alistair, but only shrugged as he followed the new leader of the expedition. Shaking his head, Alistair jogged to catch up with everyone else leaving as well. It wasn’t much further before reaching Caridin, the Paragon smith turned golem. Shale had plenty of questions for him, but it didn’t take long for ‘living’ Paragon to catch up. There was a choice to be made, something Izarre laughed about in his head as Branka proposed it. Either kill the man trapped in the body of a suit of armor who hadn’t been trying to kill him this entire time or kill the woman who had, in fact, been. While reaching for his swords, Izarre decided to stop midway and dropped his hands to his sides.  
  
White swirls circled the warden’s fingertips as thin blades of ice manifested themselves to create a pair of fisted weapons as he did before by reflex in the arena. If that wasn’t impressive enough, he then took a few steps back to disappear into a dark cloud of newly formed dark miasma. Zevran also took the chance to vanish from sight as Alistair maintained a defensive stance against the small army of attacking golems.  “You know,” he said as his companions all took up arms. “There’s a joke to be made here somewhere about boxing, giant rock monsters!” he laughed before rolling out of range from being pummeled to the ground by one of them.  
  
“Don’t you think that’s a bit insensitive given our current company?” scolded Wynne as she casted a large protection spell. When the female Paragon appeared to strike Alistair in the back, Izarre also came around to slice her dagger arm with his conjured weapon. Not only did the razor-thin blade nearly cut to the bone, the lingering effects of its magic slowly began to freeze down to her fingers. Dropping the knife, she turned to retreat but Zevran had the other side. He cut across her neck just above the armor, slicing her throat. Falling, Branka bled out slowly as Oghren moved to stand by her side, lifting her up to watch Caridin create a new crown for a King of Orzammar and to watch her life’s worth be for nothing as Izarre shattered the anvil into pieces afterward.

“It didn’t have to be this way,” Oghren whispered into his wife’s ear before the last of her blood drained from her body. Laying her down on the ground, he stood to take in a deep breath and a long swig from his ale skin. “Back to the surface then?” he asked with a turn to leave. The return trip was surprisingly easier with the darkspawn cleared from the path and the Assembly was called upon the group’s return. Despite a fight broken out over who still could claim the throne that ended with the death of the prince, the wardens still managed to gain the new king’s support to fight the Blight.


	17. How to Clean Up Massive Demonic Messes

Coming out of the Orzammar, Izarre and his group were greeted by a middle-aged man with a rough dark-haired beard pulling a cart behind him. “Warden!” he called out, causing the group to stop and look rather surprised. “Warden!” he called again as he jogged a bit faster up the snowy hill until he was out of breath. “Pardon me,” he huffed with some exhaustion as he took a few moments to collect his thoughts. “I have a proposition that I think you will be interested in.” While Izarre raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the proposal, Alistair instead took a protective stance in front to block any unwanted interaction.

“Move along, my friend. We are not interested on making any more purchases at the moment,” he said as gently, but as firmly as possible. Oghren, on the other hand who was still a bit dazed from his recent coming out topside, disagreed.

“I don’t know about that, heh. What ya got?” he asked as he pushed passed the Wardens to get a better look. The merchant looked surprised and shook his head vehemently.

“No, no, no,” the bearded man instead. “Nothing like that…Though I would not complain if you did make some purchases,” he laughed. “Rather, I need to speak to you about my great, great-grandmother and a place called Soldier’s Peak.”

“Grandmother?” Alistair questioned and turned to Wynne as if she was supposed to know all things in regards to elderly women and historical places. She glared at the assumption and turned her face away in a huff. Catching the tension, the merchant cleared his throat.

“Let me start from the beginning,” he suggested and stood up straight. “My name is Levi Dryden and my great, great-grandmother was Sophia Dryden, Commander of the Grey Wardens back in the day. I’m asking for your assistance in clearing her name. My family’s name, you see? Back then, King Arland and she fought for the throne, but she lost and that’s why the Grey Wardens were driven from Ferelden. It wasn’t until King Maric when they were let them back into the country.” It was Alistair’s turn to raise his eyebrows and looked a bit more intrigued.

“Ah,” he said with some sort of recollection. “I seem to remember that now.” To this, Izarre only scoffed with a light laugh at the end. Alistair also grinned to his lover, but returned his attention to Levi. “So, what can we do to assist?” To that, the Dryden descendant explained in detail on the need to return to Soldier’s Peak and how it could be an asset to the Warden to have a fortress again after the loss of Ostagar. To this, at least, both Wardens agreed to assist without much protest from the other party members other than the fact that was cold and snowing heavily already. It took some time to hike up the mountains using long forgotten trails that lead to the Peak, but the fog finally lifted to reveal a once glorious tower in the middle of natural mountainous defenses. While the front line fighters pressed on, Izarre, Wynne, and Morrigan stopped mid-stride up the slippery hill as if something was actively attempting to keep them out. Turning, Alistair and the rest stopped as well to ask what was wrong.

“The Veil,” Wynne answered as she shook off her spiritual burden. “It’s very thin here,” she grumbled before looking surprised and pointed towards the distance. Turning, Alistair lifted his shield to knock away an arrow that had been shot at him by an animated skeleton in the horizon. Izzare also shook off the crushing feeling of the thinning Veil as well and threw one of his metal daggers at another risen undead that was charging towards them. As more creatures rose from their snowy graves, Levi hid behind a small boulder to take shelter as he let the more skilled help clear the area.

“Why is it that every place we go involves demons or Darkspawn?” Alistair asked as he pushed tattered cloth and rotted muscles from the tip of his sword. “Why not something easy like a rampaging field of hungry bunnies?”

“Because they would be Darkspawn-tainted bunnies and be trying to bite off your ‘carrot’?” Izzare suggested and smiled with a light shrug as he continued to press forward to find an entrance to the fortress that wasn’t still bolted shut from the inside.

“Oh. Ow. Good point,” Alistair cringed and went to help Levi up. “You alright there?”

“Fine, fine. Thank you,” the merchant answered and dusted the snow himself off.

“Over here,” Izarre called from a side door where the barricade had been broken from decay over time. His team followed, only to get a nasty flashback of the events through the eyes of lost spirts trapped in a time loop. Walking through, they discovered more undead along with several suspected demons that were responsible for forcing the tower into its current state. What caught there attention the most were still active summoning portals and an opened, yet unstable gateway into the abyss. Another flashback updated the group as to the origins behind it, which led Wynne and Morrigan to stay behind to study the swirls of arcane and blood magic while the rest of them went into another room. It was the smell the hit Izarre’s and the rest of his following group’s noses first. The unforgettable stench of rotten flesh from several corpses and the putrid remains of bile, however it seemed to be coming from one source in particular. The remains of the former Warden Commander, Sophia Dryden, were not only animated, but also walking and speaking with some clarity.

“This one,” she said. “is the Dryden. Commander. Sophia. All these things.” Izarre turned to Levi to either ask his questions or issue a request as to what to do with such a thing. He was grateful when Levi denied the demonto being his great, great-grandmother and declared her to be long dead.

“Good enough for me,” Zevran said, already behind the Commander and promptly took off her head with a scissor cut by his two daggers. The cry that came from the creature’s foul mouth before the head fell to the floor summoned weaker demons to come to its aid, but they were quickly felled by Morrigan’s fire as she and Wynne had satisfied their curiosity in regards to the summoning portals.

“We should get a move on,” she suggested. “The Veil is still open and we need to figure out a way to close it or more demons will simply continue to pour through.”

“Agreed,” Wynne nodded and turned to lead the group to the second floor. On the roof, they had to continue to fight past the returned Warden bodies that had been left behind and forgotten over time. As Alistair walked through the broken bones and tattered armor, he looked pensive. Noticing the seriousness of his silence, Izarre moved closer to nudge the man’s armored arm.

“What’s wrong?” the shorter of the two asked softly as he and Alistair had both stopped walking to let the rest of their teammates move on ahead.

“When this is over, when all of this is over, we need to create a memorial here and at Ostagar to make sure all of these Wardens didn’t die in vain. That is to say, if we are even successful ourselves.” Izarre remained quiet and looked over the horizon into the forest. “They suffered and died doing the exact same thing we are doing now, Izzy. Fighting a corrupt king, making a final stand, being forgotten and left to rot because they weren’t able to win…What if…What if we are just…” But his words were stopped as he looked to the other Warden’s face to see a rare smile there. “What?” Alistair asked and couldn’t help but smile himself. “Why are you so bloody pleased?” Turning away, Izzare shrugged.

“You are very different now than when we first met. You understand what you have to do…and you are now willing to do so.”

“What do you mean?” Alistair asked as he was not really sure if he was complimented or not.

“You understand that Loghain is corrupt. If he was a good man once, he is no longer so. Fear, rage, even jealousy has pushed him to kill King Cailan, to attempt to kill us, and to ignore the Darkspawn even if it means the death of the all of people of Ferelden. He needs to be stopped and not just for the glory of the Wardens, but for us all. For my family that was killed, for the Arl who raised you, for the Wardens who died, for Lothering, and every settlement that has been or will be attacked because Loghain is afraid,” he said and turned back to Alistair. “Because confirming that means that you are no longer scared of him or of your bloodline. You know what you must do.” Pausing, Alistair’s eyes softened and he gave a nod.

“Yes, yes I do,” he said sadly and brushed a bit of snow from Izarre’s already bright white hair.

“Would you two hurry up? We can enjoy the scenery after we kill demons!” yelled Morrigan in irritation. Snapping his head around, Izarre ran to catch up, stopping halfway to turn and beckon Alistair over.

“Coming!” the older Warden called out, but paused to take one more look of the view before running as well until he was through the door to the that lead to inside of the tower itself. “What...is this place?” Stopping his stride to look around at the cages, be quickly took notice of the obviously tortured remains still in them. Izarre had also disappeared, but returned with a bit of red stained on his lips that he quickly wiped away. Heading towards the back, there was another walking and speaking corpse that had greeted them, but this one was a bit different. Avernus, a mage that was young at the time when he did Commander Dryden’s bidding, was now an unnaturally old man who admitted to using questionable means of blood magic to extend his life after being ordered into tearing the Veil. While admitting he probably would have done so anyway, his usage of testing human subjects and blood magic were damning to say the least. Leliana’s stomach turned as she protested that such practices were against the Maker’s will, while Morrigan saw reason into what the elderly mage had done. While not saying anything out loud, even Izarre internally considered that Avernus may have had a point, but did not find any excuse for torturing the other Wardens. Blood magic, on the other hand, was…just magic though. As far as he could tell, it was only so frowned upon because a mage could easily become possessed through use much like Conner, the Arl of Redcliff’s son. At any rate, personal opinions did not matter at this point because, blood mage or not, Avernus was the only one who could close the portals now that the demon whom possessed Sophia was gone.

Returning to the room with the portals downstairs, the group stood guard as the old mage attempted to undo his creations, despite various other demons attempting to stop him. With the portals sealed, he awaited his judgment from his follow Wardens. “For the torture of your own kind, I sentence you a death,” Izarre declared. “May your spirit be judged by those you hurt the most.” But Alistair also added his own comments.

“And the use of blood magic. You went too far!” To that Izarre only looked to former would-be Templar and frowned briefly before taking a step up with a manifested ice blade to slit Avernus’s throat with.

“You…take care of my creation,” the mage gargled in his blood as he fell with a smile. Izarre looked surprised, as did Alistair, who turned to ask as to what Avenrus meant by that. Clearing his throat again, Levi answered instead.

“Probably meant the fortress or shield he put up of the Fade? No worries there. Will use this place as magic-free as possible…Though I didn’t get to clear my family name…”

“Look at it as a fresh start then?” Izarre suggested as he strategically sidestepped Alistair’s question altogether. “Look for the future and what you can do.” Levi smiled with a nod.

“Will do, Wardens. Thanks again. Once I get this cleaned out…I mean once my nephews get this place cleaned out, we’ll set up storage and inventory. Come back later for some supplies. Might be things worth salvaging from the armory no doubt.”  
“We should head back to Redcliff really,” Alistair suggested and seemingly did not need an answer to his earlier question for now. “With the fortress and the treaties taken care of, we should update the Arl to push on Loghain. I…am sure I will be needed at some point.”

“Yes,” Izarre agreed. “I am sure you will be.”


	18. How Not to React to a Marriage Proposal

Returning to Redcliffe, the Wardens and their followers spoke to Arl Eamon who was ready to push forward with the Landsmeet against Loghain. With all three armies standing in wait to fight against the Darkspawn, their last few remaining concerns involved outing the traitor, placing Alistair as King, and finally taking on the horde itself by defeating the Archdemon. Alistair was nervous, constantly pacing up and down the length of the Arl’s study after being smuggled into the city Denerim and snuck into the private estate. “You seem anxious,” the Arl commented as he stood with his arms crossed over his broad chest while watching the young heir wear a path into the carpeting.

“Shouldn’t I be?” Alistair responded with a nervous laugh. “Facing down Darkspawn, even the Archdemon, I can prepare myself for, but a mad dash to be the new king after my half-brother was murdered by our father’s best friend? Wouldn’t you be a bit uneasy as well?” To this, the Arl made a stern face as he looked down trying to see it from the Warden’s point of view.

“Uneasy or not, you must…”

“Yes, yes. I know. Loghain must be stopped. At any cost,” Alistair interrupted as he requoted words that were spoken to him not so long ago. “For the sake of everyone in Ferelden before his actions slaughter more people than they already have. I just...No,” he stopped himself from returning to his restless state. “You’re right. I must remember that this isn’t just about me and my personal feelings. This is about saving the people of Ferelden from the Darkspawn. King or not, that is my duty as a Grey Warden regardless.” The Arl looked to Alistair, pleasantly surprised to the point of even smiling underneath his long, grey beard.

“Yes, exactly, but you must also remember your _other_ duties as king as well, specifically…” But Alistair had put his hand up to once again interrupt the Arl’s advice that was being given as he quickly moved to the doorway to speak to Izarre. Whatever jitters the once nervous Warden had while being alone instantly melted away once he was close to the person he loved. Turning, he gave a nod to the Arl before dismissing himself.

“We can speak more in the morning. I believe we’re all due for a decent night’s sleep before hitting the ground running tomorrow. Rest easy, my lord.” He waved as Izarre also gave a polite bow before chasing after Alistair like the young man he was underneath a battle-hardened exterior.  The Arl could only sigh and kept his remaining comments to himself before taking a seat at his desk to sort out various papers.

“What were you two talking about?” innocently asked Izarre after stepping into his room with Alistair close behind. The taller of the two Wardens shut the door as he came in before he shrugged and began to remove his own armor starting with the gloves and chest piece.

“Oh,” Alistair began with his eyes looking down to untie a leather strap that kept his breastplate up. “The usual, I suppose. Loghain’s downfall, killing the Archdemon, and something about _kingly duties_ , whatever that means. I’m not too familiar with the concept, but I am pretty sure I can figure out how to use an _official_ stamp…Lift up, place down right? Can’t be too hard.” With lighter armor more easily removed, Izarre had finished stripping down to his underclothes quickly enough to shoo Alistair’s hands away so he could untie the strap himself. Laughing, the future king gave up and let himself be undressed. “At this point, I’m also used to someone else making sure I won’t be forever trapped in my own uniform, so that shouldn’t be an issue either. Not sure what else is required other than chronic affairs with star-struck maids…” The joke got caught in his throat, especially after he felt his lover’s burning gaze upon him. “I’m kidding, by the way. I would never…Izzy? Izzy, I’m sorry,” he tried to apologize after the other Warden seemed to walk away in a hurry and starting digging through the beaten leather pack that had been carelessly tossed on top of the bureau against a far wall near the bed. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to…” As Izarre turned around, he kept his hands clutched together and looked rather upset, or at the very least, anxious.

“Close your eyes,” the shorter of the two commanded with his hands still clasped together and close to his body.

“Why?” Alistair began to look concerned. “Are you going to hit me?”

“I will if you don’t close them,” mumbled the man in front of him, so he sighed and did as he was told.

“There. They are closed and…what? What are you doing?” For a moment, he felt his hand being taken a hold of with something slipped onto his…”A ring?” he was now even more confused than before. “Why would you give me a ring? Why would I need to close my eyes for that?” He kept his fingers spread as he lifted his palm to his face and turned it over back and forth to get a good look at it. It was a handsome thing, consisting of two braided bands that enclosed a carefully crafted bright gold ivy design with a center circular ruby and two accented diamonds, one of each side of the main jewel. While maybe a bit too flashy for his taste, it was still appeasing to look at and well-suited for royalty.

“Because I want to marry you.” To that, Alistair’s tongue actually stopped working for once and he just stared as if waiting for more of an explanation than that, but Izarre only blushed nearly as red as the gem he had just given away and turned to stare at the door.

“You…want to marry me?” Alistair managed to ask after clearing his throat several times. “Why?”

“Because who would want to marry you?”

“Exactly! Who would want to marry me!?”

“I...I do,” Izarre confirmed again and managed to look back to the large, fumbling creature with his hand still up as the ring was being inspected yet again. “I want…to marry you, even though I know you will have kingly duties to perform. I was raised in a noble house, Alistair. I know what to expect but…I won’t…I won’t leave your side because of it. Even if this doesn’t mean anything other than between the two of us, I want it to be there.”

There was that phrase again, the confused and flustered proposed-to man thought. “What duties are you talking about?” Alistair asked out loud for clarification. “There will be trips, most likely, but I can’t see why you couldn’t just come with me? Do you mean giving counsel perhaps? You know that I will definitely need your help in that department. Hmm, banquets?” Izarre’s face just squinched up.

“Are you an idiot?”

“YES!” blushed the almost King. “I’ve been trying to tell you this entire time!” Dropping his defenses, the white-haired Warden took a moment to remove the tie in his ponytail and let the milky cascade down before he took a seat on edge of the bed.

“Come here,” he said with an extended hand and softer voice, to which Alistair came as he was summoned. After reaching out to take the hand that was offered as well, he took a seat next to his companion. “Do you really not understand what is being asked of you?” And to that, Alistair only shook his head. “Right, let me explain,” Izarre spoke as he ran his thumb over the ring he gifted. “The Arl has been trying to say that you being with me as King will not produce any heirs. You will need to bed a woman to have a child no matter what our shared feelings are.” When this was explained to the confused older man, he took in a deep breath and held it there. “I know this because when my brother was my age, he quickly married a girl he barely knew and immediately had a child. She was even pregnant before they were married, not that we told anyone. He was to be Teryn when my father passed, his son would be after he passed, and so on…Though now Fergus is…out there somewhere without his child. Despite his grief, he will have to remarry as well after all this. That’s just…how it works.”

“But that’s…just wrong,” Alistair managed to say as his eyes moved to focus on the floor. “Even if I am made king, surely you will have _some_ say as my…Well, I suppose _Queen_ isn’t the best word in this case, is it?” Izarre managed to smile and shook his head.

“Afraid not. Royal Consort to the King of Ferelden will probably be my best title. Whore will be the worst.”

“You are _not_ my whore, Izzy and I dare anyone to say that while I’m around.”

“They won’t likely say it to your face, you know.” There was another sting of realization that both Wardens felt which left them in silence until Alistair tried to lighten the mood.

“Well, you know, since you’re proposing to me…Doesn’t that technically make me the Queen instead? I could get used that. Practice my sewing, doing a slight wave to the crowd, get invited to all the fancy parties.”

“Do you really believe that’s all the queens do? Wave poorly and go to parties?”

“That’s all _I_ would do!” Alistair laughed heartily and moved to place his ringed hand against a cheek of the small pale face that was hiding behind long, silky strands of snowy hair. “I want to marry you too. I want to marry the _mess_ out of you and if it ever comes to any discussion about an heir, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. At least I’ll honestly say that we’re trying very hard at it, but for some reason, neither one of us is with child yet. Hmm. I wonder why…” Izarre only rolled his eyes at that, but it brought a smile to his face at least. “Speaking of trying to make a baby, how about we see what happens when we rub our two sticks together?”

“I don’t believe that’s how reproduction works…but that is how you start a fire.”

“So practical and full of useful information! That’s why I love you…” The leaned-in muttering turned into gentle kisses as the ringed hand slipped between Izarre’s legs to take hold of the arousal down there. “All of you.”


	19. How Not to Stage a Rescue: Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimer: A few lines of dialogue have been taken directly from the game or have been paraphrased from game dialogue. Anything recognizable as game dialogue is not mine, and I bow to the BioWare writing team.*

It was the awkward clearing of Arl Eamon’s throat which made both Wardens look up at the now opened doorway just as their bodies were about to become entangled. Izarre looked away feeling older man staring down at him as a small Elven servant peeked around to get a better view. “Bloody hell, doesn’t anyone knock around here?” Alistair grumbled as he too pulled himself away from the warmth of Izarre’s embrace to stand by the side of the bed.

“This is _my_ estate, Alistair,” Eamon grumbled in monotone before he turned to introduce the woman behind him. “This is…”

“My name is Erlina. I am handmaiden to Queen Anora,” she spoke for herself in a thick Orlesian accent.

“The Queen?” Alistair asked with a raised eyebrow. “Is she here?” Shaking her head, the handmaiden described in detail about Anora’s sudden kidnapping by Arl Howe and about a plan to rescue her before she was tortured, killed, or worse. While Izarre only passively listened to the rambling as he tried to make himself more decent, his interest suddenly peaked at the mention of Arl Howe being alone in his estate, or as alone as one can be under heavy guard.

“We’ll recuse her then,” he said while placing a hand on Alistair’s shoulder from behind. “We’ll leave right away.”

“Yes, we’ll…Wait. What? Really?” Alistair had to ask as he turned to look at his lover rather confused at first, but soon recognized the type of look that reflected in those piercing green eyes. “Oh. Right then,” he nodded and turned to Eamon. “We will gather our things and leave right away.” Bowing in gratitude, Erlina took a moment to explain her plan of how to get into the estate as the two Wardens picked up their armor from various places around the room and helped one another back into their set pieces.  As Izarre tied his long hair back up into a high ponytail, Alistair placed both of his hand on the smaller one’s shoulders and into the other’s eyes to give his full support. “We’ll get him, I swear to you. Are you ready?”

Izarre looked up briefly and nodded at the question before accepting Alistair’s smile and gentle quick kiss before picking up his sword to leave the room with. Alistair followed behind after fetching his own weapons as well. In front of the large double doors at the Arl of Denerim's estate was a rather large protest due to Arl Howe’s disregard to pay the wages of those who were hired to restore the house and surrounding properties. It was a chance to sneak in through the back way, if Izarre and his followers were to put on disguises as Erlina suggested, but the quick pace of the younger Warden made it clear to everyone that he had no intention of hiding who he was or why he had come here.

Despite the handmaiden’s protesting, Izarre had walked right up to the side entrance and made short work of the two guards positioned there. Even Morrigan was impressed with the tactics, finding it far easier to overpower their enemies than attempt any sort of subterfuge. No one was surprised as the servants fled and screamed at the sight of them after entering through the kitchen, but a few were taken back at Izarre’s zest and speed of killing the alerted guards that ran though the hallways. By the time the group had reached Queen Anora’s room, the body count for slain soldiers had to have been close to a hundred.

“The Grey Warden is here, my lady,” Erlina spoke through the door.

“Thank the Maker!” the Queen exclaimed. “I would greet you properly, but I’m afraid we’ve had…a setback.”

“I assume you mean the magically sealed door?” Izarre asked as he put his hand against the field only to be shocked and forced to pull away from it.

“Yes,” Anora responded. “About that…”

“We must get her out of there!” Erlina began to fuss, but was shushed by her mistress.

“Don’t panic,” Anora called through the barrier. “Find the mage who cast the spell. He’ll most likely be at Howe’s side. If he didn’t know you were here already, he soon will.” Narrowing his eyes at the information, Izarre turned to leave without saying another word. Alistair’s gaze followed him, but he too did not say anything as the party found their way down a winding staircase into a fully functional dungeon and torturer’s basement.  Whatever guards were down here came to defend their Arl, but to no avail. Much like the ones upstairs, they too were cut down without any signs of mercy or remorse. Zevran took care of the head Jailor himself and promptly swiped the master key.

“I’ll go and free anyone else who is captured down here,” he said to Izarre. “Do what you have to do to that bastard who killed your family. I shall return.”

“Wait,” Leliana spoke up. “I’m coming with you. There may be more guards waiting to ambush.  

“Yes,” Sten agreed. “We should break into small groups and clear the rooms. You two should press ahead.” Alistair gave a nod and turned to speak to his companion.

“Right, Izzy we should…Izzy?” He was surprised to see the other Warden was already halfway down the main hallway by himself with a tight grip on the Cousland’s family sword. Hurrying to catch up, Alistair had made it just in time to see Izarre kick the closed wooden door open. Inside stood two mages and in the middle of them was the Arl. “How did you even…You know what? That’s not important right now.” Still, Alistair jumped as the door was slammed closed behind them and cold, dark swirls began to manifest around his lover’s body.

“Well, well,” said Arl Howe as he stood in front of the Wardens with his arms folded over his chest. “Bryce Cousland’s little illegitimate boy, all grown up and still trying to fit into daddy’s armor.” He smiled with a disgustingly arrogant smirk as he continued to taunt Izarre. “I never thought you’d be fool enough to turn up here. But then, I never thought you’d live either.” Still, the young Warden said nothing as he lifted his family’s heirloom to point in the Arl’s direction. “What?” Howe laughed. “You wish to fight me? That seeing you here with that relic will somehow sway me into feeling guilty? Ha! A clumsy appeal, child.”

Alistair took a step forward but stopped when Izarre put his arm in the way. “He’s mine,” the last Cousland finally spoke without removing his eyes from his enemy.

“Oh? I’m yours, am I?” Howe scoffed. “Your adoptive father was a traitor to me and a coward to his nation. He even kept you, a mage, a secret to only protect himself! Trips to Orlais, gifts from old enemies; all while I sank in obscurity. Your family squandered glory that was rightfully mine! How suitable that their deaths should raise me to the ear of a king.” As he laughed, Izarre took the chance to lunge forward, but Howe had vanished in a puff of smoke to circle the heir in typical rogue fashion. The mages also took to the fight, but their spells were quickly disabled by Alistair’s Templar training and bashes to the back of their heads with his shield. Izarre stood still, closing his eyes to pick up on the sounds of footsteps and breathing. It was one of the lessons his father had taught him after all, never to be caught by a coward attacking from the shadows.

When Arl believed he found an opening, he revealed himself and took a slash to the Warden’s arm with a poisoned dagger. He didn’t need to strike a killing blow, only a scratch could disable his adversary for he had many plans in mind on how to torture and abuse the final Cousland that would be far more enjoyable if he were still alive during the process.  It was a shame to Howe as Izarre jumped back to avoid the swipe and the two more that followed. Rolling on the ground, Howe took to aiming at the young man’s legs instead, but found hit attacks reflected by the sword the Warden swung. One of those swings cut his left hand, forcing it to drop one of his two blades. With another cloud of smoke, Howe disappeared again and took his time finding a place to strike from.

He found it, he thought to himself, a weakness in the Warden’s right side. Coming out, he gave no warning as he dug his dagger deep into the youthful flesh. “You’re mine,” he corrected Izarre with a sinister growl.

“IZZY!” Alistair called out, but stopped in his tracks as he watched his loved one’s body become clear and crack like glass. Howe also lost his smile as he watched his target frost over to reveal the ice statue it truly was. The real Warden stepped out of the shadows by Alistair’s side. Turning to see him, Howe attempted to pull his dagger out of the fake figure, but found the blade and his hand stuck in living, creeping ice that had made its way up his forearm and continued to engulf his entire body.

“That’s for my father, my mother, my brother, his wife, and my nephew!” Izarre yelled. “For everyone you lied to, betrayed, torture, and killed for your own gain. You are nothing!”  As Howe began to scream, he tried to pull himself free from the ice trap, but it was too late. He had torn his own arm off, shattering it at his elbow but the ice still grew up to his shoulders and neck. His feet had frozen to the ground and all Howe’s pulling only made them snap apart at the ankles and drizzle crystalized blood underneath him.  Losing balance, Howe’s upper body finally tipped over and shattered into pieces upon the stone floor.


	20. How Not to Stage a Rescue: Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimer: A few lines of dialogue have been taken directly from the game or have been paraphrased from game dialogue. Anything recognizable as game dialogue is not mine, and I bow to the BioWare writing team.*

Catching his breath, Izarre took a step back and leaned against Alistair trying desperately to regain his composure, but was shaking too hard to remain upright on his own. “…I…I did it…I did it,” he muttered with a smile and turned his gaze upward. Alistair gave him and nod and smiled as well.

“You did your family proud, Izzy,” he assured his fiancée and took a few steps back away from what was left of Howe’s shattered body. “We should get out of here before he…melts or something.” Izarre nodded to this and turned to leave, only to be faced with the rest of his companions and a few new additions.  The first was a captured Warden recently freed from a prison cell after being held by the former Arl. The second was the son of a nobleman who had no idea what he was doing here, but was told that it was all due to Loghain’s and Howe’s plotting. There were also two Templars who refused to leave, but Wynne had acquired a ring and information to give to a family member in Denerim.

“Templars? Here? Really?” Alistair asked as he was told. “If the Grand Cleric knew they were in here, she’d be spitting hot coals. Nobles do not have authority over Templars.”

“We should return upstairs to rescue the Queen,” Wynne gently reminded her flock and everyone suddenly remember why they were there in the first place. The seal had been broken thanks to Alistair taking care of the mages and it was a bit surprising when Anora came out wearing a full suit of armor.

“My thanks,” she said as she stood upright and attempted to let go of her mannerisms long enough to maintain her costume. “We must go quickly and avoid notice.” As the group headed toward the front doors, they found themselves to be surrounded anyway as Ser Cauthrien had barricaded the exit.

“Warden! In the name of the regent, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Rendon Howe and his men-at-arms!” she announced as she stood there with a small army at her side. “Surrender, and you may be shown mercy.”

“Do you hear that, Love? We _may_ be shown mercy,” Alistair sarcastically mimicked.  “Even though we just rescued the Queen from a being held hostage here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” the woman in red snapped back. “The Queen isn’t being held prisoner here or anywhere else. Her father would never stand for such a thing.”

“Even though she’s right here?” Alistair responded. “Isn’t that right, Anora?”

“Ser Cautherien!” Anora spoke for herself. “Praise the Maker you’re here…This brigand tried to kidnap me!”

“You bitch!” Izarre growled and grabbed her by an arm, only to throw her on the floor. “If you want her, take her, but stand aside!” he yelled at the soldiers in front of him.

“My Queen!” the loyal, yet gullible female guard said as she attempted to help Anora to her feet. “Bring them down! Loghain wants the Warden dead or alive!”

“Take them out! We do not have time for this!” Izarre yelled to his own people and lead the charge towards the doors. While Anora and her handmaiden managed to slip away, Ser Cautherien watched the last of her blood spill from her body after being punctured by several arrows from Leliana. Even on the ground, she reached out to stop the Wardens from walking away, but her eyelids slid closed after a dying breath escaped from her lips.

While making their way back to the city, the group broke apart once again to tell find the connections amongst those who they managed to free from the dungeon. Zevran took a special interest in the young nobleman he had rescued from the torturing rack, making sure that there was more an offered reward than just a voice at the Landsmeet while Leliana and Wynne took to the Chantry and Taverns to discuss the capturing of the Templars. The rest headed back to the Arl’s estate with Alistair and Izarre heading to see the Arl himself particularly. Both of them were surprised to see Anora there, who had likely begun to whisper things into the Nobleman’s ear already.

“Maker’s breath!” Eamon smiled. “It’s good to see you in one piece, my friend.” Anora didn’t seem nearly as happy.

“Indeed. After your rather alarming lack of subtlety, I feared the worst for you…I…prayed for your safe return.”

“I’m sure your prayer for me wasn’t about a safe return of any kind,” Izarre replied flatly to the Queen. “Considering your not- so-surprising betrayal.” Anora huffed, quickly snapping back in her own defense.

“Well, what did you expect me to do? You announced me to my father’s most trusted lackey!”

“And your _quick thinking_ got her killed, so this must be a win-win for you.”

“…I see,” Anora paused as her mind pieced together a new way to approach the issue at hand. “No matter, I am hoping that, despite our unfortunate beginning, we can still work together. Will you hear me out?”

“No,” Izarre said so fast that it made Alistair snickered.

“But we will need to work together and quickly as my father as gone mad and…”

“I care not.”

“But he saw me as a threat and will be telling the nobles how you are all dangerous murderers that have…”

“He has already told everyone that.”

“But you will need ammunition come the Landsmeet and I can help…”

“Oh, I’ll bring ammunition. Cannons full.”

Please. Enough of this. Let the Queen speak,” Eamon finally interrupted the back and forth. Sighing, Anora gave the Arl a gentle smile.

“Thank you. As I was saying, you have only just arrived in the city, so perhaps you are unaware of some recent events.” She continued to explain the turmoil since Ostagar and the unrest in the Alienage.

“Useful information, but you could have sent your maid to tell us this,” said Eamon as he looked to her wearily.

“And of course, you need evidence for the Landsmeet…and also a stronger candidate for the throne. You need me.” This time it was Izarre who broke out in laughter.

“You? Do you truly believe that I’ll trust you after everything you and your father have done? That I trust you over Alistair? You must be as mad as your father is.”

Frowning, Anora maintained her stance and pressed her argument carefully. “I have no doubt Alistair is biddable enough, and decent, but even with his blood, he is no king. You think only I can see it? Not only that, Alistair is a Grey Warden and you’ll be seen as trying to place one of your own on the throne…and I a neutral party and already queen so…”

“Yes, the queen that killed her husband by convincing your father it was the best course of action,” Alistair spoke for himself. “Do not look surprised. My brother may have been dense enough to fall for those pretty eyes of yours, but they are as heartless as a Darkspawn to me.” Eamon also questioned Anora’s motives.

“You are indeed Cailan’s widow…but…”

“I am the daughter of Ferelden’s greatest general. Who do you think ruled this nation for the last five years?”

“Yes, you are the daughter of Ferelden’s greatest _traitor_. I do not wish to see another five years of this madness,” Izarre added.

“I am what this country needs, not an untrained king who does not even want the throne,” the Queen continued to insist.  
  
“This country does not need you or your father. I’m done here,” Alistair asserted himself and turned to walk away. “Come find me when you’re ready for the Alienage, Izzy.” Izarre looked surprised, but nodded and watched Alistair leave. No matter how many times Eamon called to the older Warden, he did not look back. This made the younger of the two smile, though Izarre mostly kept how pleased he was to himself. Anora could only sigh and turned her reasoning to him instead.

“Consider what I have said. For now, I think I will retire to my room. Warden, when you have a moment, I ask that you speak to me in private.” She turned to leave as well with her head held high and a smirk across her lips as she was already plotting something else.

“She’s quite…spirited,” Eamon said as he shrugged.

“…I should go,” Izarre muttered, but paused as the Arl spoke to him again.

“Of course.  If I might make a suggestion; go speak with Anora. She will either be a powerful ally, or a powerful enemy, and the sooner we know which she is, the better.”

“…Do not hope for the best. She is a snake that stuck her forked tongue in her father’s ear to kill her own husband. She will quickly dispose of the next if given the chance, do not doubt that. I pray she has not stuck that tongue of hers in your ear, Arl. Poison from a beautiful creature is the deadliest.”

“Yes,” Eamon agreed. “Yes it is.” With that he bowed to the Warden and Izarre left to find his other half, but changed his mind to rattle the beehive, as it were. He let himself into Anora’s room and watched in amusement as she put on the best show for him. He was greeted politely, her hand reaching out to stroke his arm in a familiar manner. He had seen it all before as the trained routine for asking a favor from any sort of nobility was all the same song and dance.

“I realize that my…actions at Howe’s estate may not have painted me in the best light. For that I apologize, and hope we can start again,” the Queen spoke with a gentle voice and Izarre gave her an understanding smile while dropping his guard to dance along as well.

“Forgiven and forgotten. There are more important things to consider here,” he responded and took a seat on the center sofa. She took the seat next to him as well, her legs crossed under her silk dress as she leaned in to continue the conversation.

“First, let me say that I knew your family. Eleanor in particular was dear to me, and what Howe did…was unforgivable. How fitting he died at your hands.”

“Naturally, but I am not here to discuss that, am I?”

“No,” she replied. “No, it is not. I will be blunt then. I can see that your voice will be a strong one in days to come. It is to you Eamon listens to, and with good reason,” she began. “My father must be stopped, but once that is done, Ferelden will need a ruler. I would welcome your support for my throne.”

“And why, pray tell, should I support you over Alistair?”

“You are a fellow Grey Warden,” she smiled cunningly. “What do you think of Alistair’s potential to rule, never mind his willingness? Alistair is a…kind…well-meaning man, but he also seems to be a fine Grey Warden…which is exactly why he should remain one and serve the kingdom by defeating Darkspawn.”

“Your kingdom, you mean? The one you wish to take over since you went through all the trouble of killing your husband by whispering  secrets of Cailan’s plan on leaving you and making a more…carnal alliance with Orlais?”  


“I…what? I do not…” Anora made the effort to defend herself yet again, but paused as Izarre lifted his hand.

“Hold your tongue, harpy. We discovered the letters your late husband had in his personal belongings on Ostagar. Do you really believe that I am _stupid_ enough to trust anything you say? That you did not know of his dealings? You said it yourself, who had really been in charge all this time? You, correct? You knew, and more importantly, your father knew. Do you want to know what the Darkspawn did to his body after being crushed by an ogre? They nailed his naked form as a warning to an alter they created out of the weapons of fallen soldiers and wardens. They violated and carved into his flesh. They passed around his armor like trophies to other Darkspawn. That is what you and your father did to Maric’s son and that is what the world will know after the Archdemon is defeated and Alistair takes the throne from your filthy hands. Enjoy these final days as Queen, for you will see nothing but darkness after.”

Standing up, Izarre looked down at the shocked woman as tears leaked from her eyes and her body shook from her blood turning cold. “I pray the Maker keeps you safe in the final battle only to know the true sting of justice for the rest of your miserable days.”


	21. How to Celebrate Small Victories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimer: A few lines of dialogue have been taken directly from the game or have been paraphrased from game dialogue. Anything recognizable as game dialogue is not mine, and I bow to the BioWare writing team.*  
> **Chapter is NSFW**

Alistair had settled in for the night in his Izarre’s room, though it was fair to say it was _their_ room at this point. His stuff was scattered in the same corners and on the same desk as Izarre’s things were. While taking in the silence, he looked around as he realized that this was how it was going to be for the rest of his life. His first thought was panic; a cold creeping fear up the back of his neck as he sat down on their shared bed, but soon a warm rush of comfort filled his chest. Outside of the grey wardens, he never had a home or family he could truly rely on before.

While attempting to remove his armor for a second time that day, he struggled to do it on his own. He thought to himself as he twisted and wiggled awkwardly.

_Why do these back straps seem so far away? Were they always so hard to reach? How many years have I spent having conversations in my own head? Did it always feel this lonely? Maker, was I **lonely** before?_

“Are you stuck again?” Izarre asked after letting himself in and shut the heavy wooden door afterward.  Before Alistair could answer, the shorter of the two had already removed his gloves and placed them on the nightstand. “Here. Let me. Turn around,” he smiled as Alistair promptly did was he was told. “This new plating may be stronger than your old set, but the harnesses are a bit short for your broad stature. We should get to a blacksmith or have a servant tailor on longer ones for you…” He paused as he looked up to see his betrothed’s looking down upon him. “What?” he hesitated to ask. “Did I say something offensive? I didn’t say you were fat, just wide. It’s not a bad…thing…” To this, Alistair just grinned. “Is there something on my face then? Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Because I love you.” The answer wasn’t exactly what Izarre was expecting to hear. “You’re always there for me. I never had that before.”

“…Oh,” the flustered man mumbled and looked back down to pull the final belt loose he was fidgeting with while failing keep a blush away from his cheeks. “There. You can peel it off now.”

“Thank the Maker,” Alistair sighed in relief as he pried off the last of his upper body armor and gave it a toss in a corner with his other supplies. “First light tomorrow we have to go into the Alienage to see what’s going on there. If the situation is a delicate as Anora said it is, we should do things properly rather than sneaking past the gate in the middle of the night.”

“True enough, I suppose,” Izarre half-heartedly agreed as he busied himself with removing his own chest piece. Rather than throwing it aside like Alistair did, he instead placed it gently against a wall and removed the tie from his hair. As the white strands fell, he pushed them from his face and took a seat on the edge of the bed to unbind his thigh, knee, and shin guards from both legs. Alistair sat next to him to do the same as he tried to keep the conversation going.

“What took you so long anyway? Did Eamon hold you hostage a bit longer?” Kicking off his boots last, the smaller Warden shook his head before answering the question and tucked strands of loose hair behind his ears nervously.

“No, not exactly. He suggested I go speak to the Queen in private…which I did. I put on a good front as she tried to convenience me how terrible of a king you will be. Apparently you’re too kind, well-meaning, and common.”

“Common? Ow…she called me _common_? Is that even an insult?”

“She didn’t say common exactly, just that you do not have any _kingly_ mannerisms which makes you, well, _common_.  Of course, then I told her how she indirectly killed her last king and may have gone into detail about what the darkspawn did to his remains after her father abandoned him at Ostagar…” Alistair gasped playfully at the confession.

“ _You didn’t_?!”

“I did…though perhaps I should have waited until _after_ the Landsmeet, all things considered. If she wasn’t against us before, she may be even more determined now…” Pondering on his actions, Izarre stared at his feet and kicked his removed boots a bit.

“Well, I suppose I started it anyway, didn’t I? If she didn’t have a hand in what Loghain did, having that pressing on her mind may sway her to join our cause. Course, if she _did_ push her father into getting rid of her husband, us knowing about it will at least make her change her tactics in the end. It will be slopping planning and give us the advantage. In which case, we’ll at least still hold something over her head and we have the King’s letters to hold a trial with after the thing with the Archdemon is resolved.”

“…You sound like a king already,” Izarre teased and nudged Alistair with his arm before leaning over against the larger man’s side altogether.

“Do I?” Alistair laughed as he slipped an arm around the one snuggling against him. “That’s a scary thought, isn’t it? Did I always sound a bit _kingly_ or has it been a recent development?”

“…Recent. Very re…cent.” Looking up, Izarre caught Alistair’s eyes. “You’re staring again.”

“That’s because I love you,” Alistair confessed a second time before he leaned back to pull his lover on top of him. “And I’m a pent-up letch, remember?” It didn’t take long for the pair to become wrapped up in each other’s arms as the future King found himself pinned beneath his surprisingly strong future…bride? No, that didn’t sound right.

Royal Consort, was it? Or Prince? Before his mind could settle on what to call his soon-to-be spouse, Izarre had already started to tease his aching sex with an eager, warm pink tongue and whatever title would be used suddenly didn’t matter anymore. Before he got too comfortable however, he did turn his attention to the readjusting his position to be both a giver and a receiver of such pleasures.

Soon, both Wardens were wiggling on the mattress in ecstasy, each probing and licking the other’s most sensitive parts until the first wave of orgasms overcame them. The next round was a bit more imitate as Izarre had once again straddled Alistair’s waist, letting the large man slip inside of him while he controlled the speed and force.  His partner didn’t mind being ridden as the older of the two was far too occupied with biting, nibbling, and sucking on the pink circles of Izarre’s chest until they were pleasantly sore and stood out as dark flushed orbs against his pale skin. The scratch marks Alistair left on his backside and thighs were also in stark contrast to his flesh tone.  Those most of the marks faded soon after they were made, this only enticed Alistair to reapply them soon after their disappearance.

The kissing was the most intense, even if the long, white hair had to be pushed aside to reach the other’s lips. Izarre was eventually pushed down on his back with his stiff erection sandwiched and rubbed between two glistening stomachs and Alistair’s rough hand until he cried out first as he released. Quite pleased with himself, Alistair turned his nearly exhausted lover to bending over and took the thin pair of pale arms by the wrists and loose hair to have Izarre helplessly held up while being pounded from the behind.  Only after squirting his own seed deep into the roughed up opening his manhood was in, did Alistair slowly let go. Izzare slipped softly onto the pillows and mattress below where he nuzzled up and murred in contentment.

Neither one seemed to mind the seepage or slippage of their own juices that splattered both of their bodies in various places and curled up together with the blanket wrapped around their ankles at the foot of the bed. “I suppose we should go to sleep…I’m sure half the household heard…us. Izzy?” But the other Warden had already found a cozy place to rest under Alistair’s arm with his face buried against a pectoral. “Second time tonight you finished before me,” he teased quietly only to have Izarre mumble and give a playful bite to his lover’s exposed nipple before falling asleep again.


	22. How Not to Hold a Landsmeet: Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimer: A few lines of dialogue have been taken directly from the game or have been paraphrased from game dialogue. Anything recognizable as game dialogue is not mine, and I bow to the BioWare writing team.*

“Alistair. Alistair, wake up. We need to leave soon.” Nude and grumbling, the half-asleep Warden rolled around on the comfortable bed in order to avoid the wake-up call. “Alistair! Alistair, get up!” The swatting sound in the air and the sudden sting on his backside was finally enough to get the large naked man to his feet who wasn’t exactly happy to feel the burning light in his eyes.

“Do we have to leave already? It’s barely dawn,” he complained, but was spanked again as he tried to crawl back into the warm mountain of blankets and pillows he had left behind. “OW! Alright! Alright! Stop hitting me!” While laughing, Alistair rubbed his eyes for a few seconds before finally opening them. When he did, he saw his bed partner was already fully dressed while pulling the white hair up as usual.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Alistair spoke while yawning and took a moment to clear his throat. “But wouldn’t be easier to cut this into something more manageable?” he asked as he ran his fingers through the silky locks on his way to pick up his underclothes and gear.

“My mother wouldn’t allow it. It was her favorite hobby when it came to me. Even though she isn’t here now, cutting it would be…”

“Ah,” Alistair nodded. “Say no more. I won’t bring it up again.” Izarre still made a face at him and turned his attention to ponytail he created.

“…Does it…really look strange? The color…and everything?”

“Strange? No, I wouldn’t say strange. It’s unique for certain, but it suits you. I was just asking for…I don’t know,” shrugged the man still only half-dressed at this point. “For combat’s sake, though you never let it slow you down in a fight. I couldn’t handle something like that myself. It’d be a tangled mess.”

“You are still a mess,” Izarre huffed and moved to help his fiancée with the belts on the heavy plate mail again that were still too short.

“And that’s why you’re…Oh. How long have you been standing there?” The question was directed toward Morrigan and everyone else they knew as they waited for their future king to finally be ready to leave for the Alienage.

“Long enough to want to throw up our breakfast,” the Sorceress replied with her arms folded.

“And to win a bet about the size of your…unmentionables,” Zevran also added as he turned to Wynne with his hand out. Alistair cringed as Wynne fished into her coin purse to give a piece of silver to the snarky Assassin.

“I don’t even want to know how you could guess that,” Wynne sighed with a faint blush and a smile.

“It’s a popular game in Antiva,” Zevran answered her with a wink and they both shared a small laugh.

“Right…” Alistair coughed once again before continuing. “So we need to head towards the Alienage and see what Loghain is up to there and why access is restricted. Everyone ready? Great.  Please stop staring at me like that…”

There were only a few guards posted outside of the Alienage by the time the group had arrived that were keeping their distance and faces covered. As the party approached, the soldiers only motioned to a worn leaflet that read of a plague in the area. It was suspicious, to say the least, as only a few sick elves were on the streets while the rest seemed to be far more concerned over catching this so-called illness than actually being sick themselves.  “We should go see the elf I freed from Howe’s prison,” Zevran suggested and took lead. “He said he had a small house over in this sector…Well.” He stopped as he stood in front of a hovel with the front door barely closed over. “I suppose you could call this a house,” he shrugged and let himself in. “Hello? Any mildly attractive former captives around?”

A dark-haired male poked his head from around the corner looking concerned. “May I help…oh. It’s you. You actually came,” he smiled sounding a bit surprise, but welcoming. “Please, have a seat just..ah..anywhere. I still haven’t recovered from looters yet while I was gone and now with this plague…”

“So the plague is real then?” Izarre asked as he politely declined a chair, preferring to stand with his arms folded over his chest.

“I guess it has been pretty bad,” shrugged the confused elf. “I’ve seen a few sick people, myself, but by the time I got here it seemed to be under control. There are mages from Tevinter here, helping to treat it…But there’s something odd going on, though.”

“Tevinter?” Alistair asked as he looked disturbed. “Does this mean the Chantry allowed foreign mages into the city? _That_ doesn’t sound right.”

Again, the elf shrugged. “I guess so. I’d expect Templars here, otherwise.”

“This does not sound like something the Grand Cleric would condone, Izzy. Even with our own mage problems in the tower. We should look into this before something worse happens.” Izarre gave a nod in agreement and turned to leave, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

“Look, I…know you’ve already done a lot for me, but…I have to ask…” the hesitant young elf began. “Could you talk to Shianni? Please, I..I don’t know what’s going on here, but I know she’s in over her head.” Agreeing to do so, the companions set out to see how out of control the unrest was in the Alienage actually was. The loudest among them was a female elf with short red hair screaming at the top of her lungs on how her kin were being spirited away and that there wasn’t an actual cure being produced. Assuming that was Shianni, Izarre spoke to her to get to the bottom of this. This led to the killing of a few guards and other mages as he forced his way through to get inside the makeshift hospice’s door.

There were only a few more mages inside along with an official documents branded with Loghain’s seal which authorized the selling of free city elves to be slaves at in the Tevinter Imperium sitting on a desk. “Are you still having doubts about being king?” Wynne whispered to Alistair as he stared intensely at the papers.

“There are tracks leading to the back here,” Oghren spoke up as he and Sten had taken to looking for clues. “Probably dragged ‘em out the back to avoid being seen, bound and gagged like. Come on.” The dwarf led the way as he tracked them back through the alleyways and Izarre’s mabari hound picked up on the scent once they found a way into the apartments, but it was the end result that made the Warden’s blood boil as those not sold were being sacrificed in blood rituals. While the pompous spellcaster was defeated easily enough, it was his attempt to try to strike a deal that would kill off the remaining slaves for a chance at a longer life to the rescuers that forfeited his life. After clearing out the remaining slave traders and gaining a newfound respect by the elves, the weary heroes found themselves once again headed to Arl Eamon’s estate. While Alistair was called away to be prepped for the Landmeet, Izarre took the advice of the warden they had freed Howe’s dungeon and headed back into the city to loot a stash of weapons and armor from an old warehouse behind the tavern.

While most of it was junk with the exception of a few sharpened swords, there was something covered with dust poking out of a crate that caught his eye. While squatted down in front of the box filled with aged straw, Izarre removed a slivery-white shield with a blue griffon symbol on the front of it which he had seen before, but couldn’t place where. Still, he felt a certain urge to bring it out of the dusty backroom and returned to the estate to drop off a few of the weapons to Eamon’s soldiers, but cradled the shield against his chest to take to the study where Alistair was being briefed.

Standing outside the doorway, he could hear Eamon drilling Maric’s son on just standing up straight, so he took a chance on letting himself in. Alistair smiled as he saw his beloved enter the room and hurried over to him. “Thank the Maker you’re here. We’re about to head to the castle so…What’s that?” the nervous Warden asked Izarre while pointing at the shield.

“It’s…something I found. I’ve seen this symbol before but I cannot place where.” Turning the piece of armor over, Alistair’s heart noticeably sank.

“It’s…it’s Duncan’s. I had no idea he didn’t have this with him…May I?” Without hesitation, Izarre handed Alistair the piece of metal and smiled as he watched his partner clutch it to his arm. “This…This is perfect. Thank you. With all of this being king business, I have to remember what’s really at stake here. Even if I don’t want to be king, I have to remember that this isn’t about simply politics.”

“No, it’s not,” Izarre agreed and took a step back to evaluate Alistair’s appearance. “You should carry that to the Landsmeet as well,” he suggested. “Do not shy away from your current position and show the nobles suffering from the invasion that you are not only their king, but also their savior. Loghain may have helped freed us from Orlais, but then sold us out for a crown to the Darkspawn.”

“Hm, yes…but I see the appeal of a crown. Course, then you’d get _crown hair_ …Is that a thing? Can you have _crown hair_? I bet you can.”

“You’d have to wear the thing first.”

“Aww, you know I’m just joking. If you haven’t figured out that part of my personality yet, I tend to make terrible jokes when I’m nervous. I hope Eamon doesn’t expect me to give a speech. Maker, he probably does, doesn’t he?” Alistair groaned at the thought but shook his body about to release his nerves. “Right. Now or never then. Let’s get there before I decide it’s better off just to kidnap you to Orlais and live a life of sin and cake eating until the darkspawn catch up to us. Cursed darkspawn!” Alistair laughed nervously until Izarre gave him a comforting shoulder bump. Even though he didn’t speak, the look he gave was calming enough to finally get the other Warden moving towards the door with some degree of confidence. Izarre could only pray that it was enough to win the hearts of the nation. They had run out of time for it not to be.


	23. How Not to Hold a Landsmeet: Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimer: A few lines of dialogue have been taken directly from the game or have been paraphrased from game dialogue. Anything recognizable as game dialogue is not mine, and I bow to the BioWare writing team.*

Inside the castle’s great hall, Eamon had already taken his position in the upper balconies to protest Loghain’s regency. Dressed in Redcliff’s traditional armor, the well-spoken Arl immediately began to tear into Loghain’s right to rule. “My lords and ladies of the Landsmeet,” he began. “Teyrn Loghain would have us give up our freedoms! Our traditions! Out of fear!” His hands slammed against the stone railing as he emphasized key speaking points. “He placed us on this path, yet we should place our destiny in his hands? Must we sacrifice everything good about our nation to save it?”

After a round of applause from the lesser nobles standing in small groups on the floor below, they all took a step back as Loghain himself appeared. “A fine performance, Eamon,” the General said with a mocking tone. “But no one here is taken in by it.” After moving to the center of the room, he continued to derail the speech against him. “You would attempt to put a puppet on the throne and every soul here knows it. The better question is, ‘Who will pull the strings?’”

As the main doors were pushed open, Loghain turned his wrath onto those who came to join him. Alistair was first to walk into the line of fire, his eyes fixated on Loghain alone and ignored the rest of the crowd with Izarre following just a few steps behind. The younger Warden took more of an interest in those standing on the balcony, recognizing faces from his days at court. Some looked upon him with shock while others looked with pity for the loss of the Couslands. It was a dreadful deed that was hard to swallow. It was unnerving to most of them that such a slaughtering of another noble house was not only allowed, but, worse yet, condoned by Loghain himself.

“Ah!” Loghain exclaimed as saw the Wardens heading his way. “And here we have the puppet and puppeteer.”

“Looking in the mirror again, Loghain? Any fool with eyes can see the strings Anora has you dancing from,” Alistair remarked after stopping a few feet away from his target. The comment made Loghain sneer and redirect his attention to Izarre instead.

“Tell us, Warden; How will the Orlesians take our nation away from us? Will they deign to send troops, or simply issue their commands through this would-be prince? What did they offer you? How much is the price of Ferelden honor now?”

“Orlais?” Izarre asked in return. “Isn’t the Blight the real threat here? Better yet, I could ask you the same thing, but we already know that you value the Maric’s crown more than the lives you abandoned to the darkspawn, including the life of King Cailan!”

“There are enough refugees in my bannorn now to make that abundantly clear!” yelled a woman standing with her advisors along the upper deck.

“The south is fallen, Loghain!” yelled another male noble. “Will you let the darkspawn take the whole country for fear of Orlais?”

“The Blight is indeed real, Wullf. But do we need Grey Wardens to fight it?” Loghain asked as he tried to express some sympathy for the plight. “They claim they alone can end the Blight, yet they failed spectacularly against the darkspawn at Ostagar, and they ask to bring with them four legions of chevaliers! Once we open our borders to them, can we really expect them to simply return from whence they came?”

“My brother asked for those men because he knew that the darkspawn do not discriminate nor care about boarders,” Alistair snapped. “What do you think they are doing to do once they take Ferelden? And what of our own men? How many deaths did you cause by turning tail and leaving your King to die?” There was mumbling from the crowd which began to question the General’s choices. “How many of you have lost sons and daughters to this already? How many more do you think we’ll lose turning a blind eye to the actual threat so that Loghain may feel justified in his cowardice?!”

Izarre took a step forward to confront the Regent as well. “And you allowed Rendon Howe to imprison and torture anyone that might have questioned your decision. You allowed him to kill my entire family for this! My mother, my father, my brother’s wife and their little boy! What did you gain by that?”

“The Warden speaks truly! My son was taken under the cover of night!” called out another family head from the balcony. “The things done to him…some are beyond any healer’s skills!” Sneering once again, Loghain looked down to young man Howe had orphaned for a second time.

“Howe…was responsible for himself. He will answer to the Maker for any wrongs committed in this life. As must we all.” Izarre stared flatly and pressed his lips together as Loghain pointed an accusing finger at him. “But you know that. You were the one who murdered him.  Whatever Howe may have done, he should have been brought before the seneschal. There is no justice in buttering a man in his home.”

“He accused my father of treason and murdered my family in their home, yet you turned a blind eye if not all but sign the order yourself giving him permission to do so. Where was the seneschal then?  Would anyone here not have done the very same as I did were they a witness to seeing Howe killing their children in their beds?” Izarre asked in return. “You speak of justice, but what justice is there in with condoning the death of innocents? In selling innocent elves to Tevinter? They were being slaughtered and caged as well with your approval!” With that, Izarre held up the documents he found in the Alienage for audience to see. “How will you answer Andraste when she speaks on _your_ sins, Loghain?”

Closing his eyes, Loghain sighed heavily. “This is war. Did you believe it would be like the old tales; knights with pennants flying over battlefield where all outcomes are decided simply and with honor? War is cruel. Every soul who fought alongside Maric knows this. And in it, there are no such things as innocents, only the living and the dead, and degrees of guilt both bear.”

“So you sold your king for a crown at Ostagar to the darkspawn and elves for gold to unchecked Tevinter mages?  At this rate, you’re going to run out of lives to bargain with.” Grunting, the General moved forward, placing his face directly above Izarre’s.

“Enough of this! I have a question for you Warden: What have you done with my daughter?”

“I wouldn’t touch any of your line. My blood is tainted quite enough, thank you very much.”

“You took my daughter, our Queen, by force! Killing her guards in the process! What arts have you employed to keep her? Does she even still live?” The accusations caused Izarre’s eyes to roll.

“I believe I can speak for myself,” Anora said as she came in from the back with her head held high. “Lords and ladies of Ferelden, hear me. This Warden has slandered and defamed Ferelden’s greatest hero in a bid to put an imposter on Maric’s throne!”

“Surprise, the viper’s head appears when it believes it can strike a killing,” Alistair whispered loudly under his breath.  Anora just smiled at him.

“My father will always do what must be done for Ferelden,” she hissed in reply.

“Who here can say that Anora is not fit to rule this land? And who can say that this Alistair is? We know nothing of him save that he _may_ have royal blood.” Taking a confidant step back, Loghain began to wrap up his argument. “For five years, Anora has been queen, and proven herself worthy of the Theirin name! She can lead our people through this crisis and I can lead her armies!”

“Not according to Cailan!” Alistair interrupted. “In fact, in his own words, Cailan had been suspicious of his wife and the way she has manipulated her father and himself. He was done with you, Anora. You thought he was a fool, but he knew what you were up to!” To that, Alistair held up the letters he had retrieved from the former king’s chest in Ostagar.

“Those…Those letters are forged!” Anora protested. “Forged and used as a desperate attempt by…”

“By? By whom?” Izarre asked. “They bear the royal seal of both Orlais and the King himself. The truth is that you believed yourself to be the true ruler of Ferelden and needed to get rid of the one holding you back. Should we all suffer from a Blight because your marriage was in danger, Anora? Do you want the throne so badly that you’re willing to mount it on top of a pile of bodies? Are we all just sacrifices to satiate your lust for power? Cailan was willing to put aside border disputes to save the lives of his people, but we all see that you do not care about that.”

“South Reach stands with the Grey Wardens!” yelled an Arl.

“Waking Sea stands with the Grey Wardens!” yelled another.

“Dragon’s Peak supports the Warden!” cried out a third.

“The Western Hills throw their lot in with the Wardens! Maker help us!” While the shouts were of support, there were still enough other nobles that feared for their lives between Queen Anora’s wrath and Loghain’s armies to have a nearly even split across the room.

“This…bodes ill for us all,” Eamon stated just before Loghain shot a wicked grin in his direction.

“I charge Eamon, Alistair, and this Warden with treason!”

“To arms!” the Arl of Redcliff commanded. “We will not be taken without a fight!” The shooting and cheers suddenly turned into a chorus of clashing metal as the room divided itself with those who supported Alistair and those who still believed in, or at least feared,  Loghain’s madness.

“In the Maker’s name, stop! We will have order!” yelled an elderly woman from the distance. The Chantry mother stood there looking disgusted at the situation. The soldiers on both sides of the argument stood down and let the Mother speak without interruption. “Alistair’s right to the throne is challenged, his challenger’s honor in doubt: In the past, such disputes were settled by duel. Will the Landsmeet agree?

“Yes,” agreed the head of Waking Sea. “If it will avoid further bloodshed. But it must be fought according to tradition. By strength of arms only, in single combat, until one party yields. Do you accept the terms?”

“Alistair accepts!” Izarre spoke out and turned to his partner with a small smile.

“You know, I could have said that,” Alistair teased in response and gave Izarre a playful nudge.

“Then let us test the mettle of our would-be-king,” scoffed Loghain. “Prepare yourself.” To this Alistair nodded and took a step forward as the Izarre took several steps back as to not be called on interfering in any sort of way.  The two opponents locked eyes once again and each other circling around another to gain both focus and footing. Loghain was first to pull his sword and shield from his back and Alistair followed suit. The Griffon on his shield glistened with his Grey Warden pride, but he also carried Maric’s sword recovered from Cailan’s body. “You my carry your father’s sword,” Loghain growled. “But can you wield it? Does your pretend blood tie even give you the strength to use it properly?”

Lunging forward, the General attempted to knock the weapon out from Alistair’s hand, but the attack was parried. “Careful Loghain, your fear is seeping through again,” the Warden taunted and pushed his enemy back with Duncan’s shield.  “How easy was it for you to turn away from the battle without seeing it up close? Would you have been able to look Maric’s son in the eyes before abandoning him to the darkspawn?” Taking a step back, Alistair hit running speed as he rammed Loghain’s shield with his own until their faces were barely an inch apart. “Well, here’s your chance to find out. Look me in the eyes, Loghain! Tell me that I am not Maric’s son!”

There was a moment of silence there, but the words stung and Loghain flinched. Taking another step back, Alistair swung his arm and pummeled Loghain over in the moment of hesitation. With the wind knocked out of him, the defeated General took a knee to catch his breath. “So…there is some of Maric in you after all. Good.” Holding his father’s sword out, Alistair’s expression darkened.

“Forget Maric,” he said as he held his sword arm up. “This is for Duncan.” When the sword came down, Loghain’s head was severed from his body. The crimson spray splattered Anora as she tried to come to her father’s rescue, but it was far too late. With her tears streaking the blood on her face, she fell to her knees to cradle her parent’s head.  The nobles moved to gather around as well, Izarre leading them as he returned to Alistair’s side and gently placed a hand on top of the one still gripping Maric’s sword.

“So it is decided. Alistair will take his father’s throne,” Eamon announced to break the tension.

“Wait? What? Oh…Right,” Alistair mutter as he seemed to snap out of a trance.

“Alistair will be king,” Izarre chimed in. “And I will rule beside him.” The nobles began to speak loudly amongst themselves at the sudden announcement and Alistair’s flushed face.

“This is where I wake up, usually. Or everyone points and laughs because I have no clothes on,” the Warden slash King mumbled.

“That already happened today,” his betrothed reminded him.

“Oh, right. It did. Remind me to invest in door locks, will you dear?”

“Anora,” Eamon spoke up as he all but ignored the Wardens in the background. “The Landsmeet has decided against you. You must now swear fealty to our king, and relinquish all claims to the throne for yourself and your heirs.”

“If you think I will swear that oath, Eamon, you know nothing of me,” she managed to say while trying to control her sobs.

“We have to do something about her, Alistair,” Izarre nudge to his now openly engaged-to fiancée.

“What kind of something?” Alistair asked, not really having gotten over the shock of, well, everything.

“We cannot leave Ferelden in a state of civil war. We much have unity. If she will not swear fealty to you, Alistair, and renounce her claim to the throne, she is a threat to us all,” Eamon sighed at having to explain the situation.

“What do you want me to do? Kill her now without a trail? I’d be just as bad as Loghain if I did that. I guess…put her in the tower, for now. Lock her up. Maybe we can find somewhere to send her. Later.” Surprised, Anora turned to Alistair and sighed.

“Thank you…” she managed to say. “You show me mercy that I…would not have shown you.”

“No, I imagine you wouldn’t which is why things are as they are, Anora.” As the guard took the shamed woman away, Eamon cleared his throat and elbowed the new King into speaking.

“Your Highness, would you address the Landsmeet?”

“Huh? Oh. That would be me. Right, um….I never knew him, but from all I’ve heard of my father, What defined him was his commitment to protecting his land. And…er…”

“Shut up and put on the damn crown,” whispered Izarre and caused Alistair to choke a bit.

“Maker’s breath…When the Blight is over, I’ll come back and take up my duties…whatever they are…as king. Until then, I think Arl Eamon will have to be my regent.” To this, the proud Arl bowed.

“Then I can do Maric’s memory no less honor than you. I accept. And may the Maker bless your efforts against the Darkspawn.”

“And my fellow Grey Warden,” Alistair continued. “And future co-ruler if you know what I mean, will, I hope, take Loghain’s place as the leader of my armies!” Even Izarre coughed at that, but managed to at least nod. “Shall we finish this thing together?” cheesed the King and Izarre just smirked.

“We should get the armies moving.”

“Right. The Blight is coming. Nobody can deny that now. Everyone! Get ready to march! It’s going to take all of Ferelden’s strength to survive this.”


	24. How to Pay the Price for Blood Magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimer: A few lines of dialogue have been taken directly from the game or have been paraphrased from game dialogue. Anything recognizable as game dialogue is not mine, and I bow to the BioWare writing team.*

“So,” Alistair began as he walked into one of the meeting rooms in the Arl’s estate. “Strange story, tell if you’ve heard this one: this fellow gets made king and then announces his engagement all on the same night…” Izarre turned from speaking with Zevran and Leliana to see what he was going on about and cocked an eyebrow at the tone.

“You’re welcome?” asked the flustered Warden with a touch of concern. It was enough to make the Bard and Assassin quickly get up and excuse themselves, closing the door behind them on the way out. “You…aren’t angry, are you?” While sighing heavily, Ferelden’s new ruler ran a gloved hand through his short hair.

“I’m not thrilled with the idea of being king,” he admitted. “I never wanted it, I told you that…”

“Yes, but...” It was an attempt to either defend what happened at the Landsmeet or to apologize, but whichever it was got cut short as the hand that was in Alistair’s hair just a moment ago was now covering Izarre’s mouth.

“I’m not angry,” There was a smile as the hand was removed as Alistair took in the cuteness he saw on Izarre’s pouting face. “I suppose I’m more curious about…you know, the engagement. I like the idea, obviously considering I already said yes to you in private, but…are you sure? I mean, I know you said you are, but now it’s just…out there for all to see. As you said before, you will be…well…the King’s new…whatever title they throw upon you and it might not be that flattering. Are you…alright with that?”

“You don’t think I should be then?”

“They’ll expect an heir, you know, just as you said. With the taint in our blood, it’s hard enough for a Grey Warden to have a child on their own. For two of them…? Not to mention, we’re both men…I probably should have started with that little bump in the road first.” Izarre finally took a seat down in a nearby chair and stared a bit in at the floor as Alistair continued to speak. “Every Grey Warden I knew who had children had them before the Joining. Having an heir…even if I agreed to…indulge the idea of a surrogate…it still might not be possible…and I really do not want to…well…do _that_ with another woman if there’s no way for me to even get her pregnant in the first place. I wouldn’t…want to put you…put us…through that. My father and brother both fooled around on the side and look at where it got them. In coffins! I don’t want to be in a coffin because I broke my marriage vows! Let me…say that better. I don’t want to break my marriage vows to begin with, you know what I mean. Stop looking at me like that.” Holding back a laugh, Izarre tried to lighten the mood.

“Well, you can keep trying with me all you like if the end results are going to be the same anyhow,” he teased and broke the King’s serious face.

“That’s an excellent point. Throw enough cheese at the wall and a few might stick, right?” Taking a step to kneel down before his betrothed, Alistair smiled once again. “This is a conversation for another time. I suppose this is something we’ll just have to deal with later. My coronation isn’t going to happen for some time yet…and we’ve still the darkspawn to fight.” He took one of the smaller Warden’s hands and pulled him back up to stand. “Arl Eamon has left for Redcliffe, and says the armies have almost finished gathering there, so we should go as soon as possible. If we don’t deal with the Archdemon soon, it’ll be _cranky_. And nobody wants that.”

“Oh course but…did you really throw cheese at walls?”

“I did!” A proud yet goofy smile painted itself on. “We would place bets and have competitions over whose cheese would stick to the walls. Course, it was a lot more fun once everyone was drunk…” With that, Alistair shrugged off the memory and pulled Izarre along off to their bedroom for a bit of post-engagement celebration and a good night’s rest. At dawn, the Wardens and the rest of the group caravanned to Redcliffe, only to be greeted by burning buildings and scattered bodies. A man, who had stopped running in an attempt to scavenge some armor off of a fallen solider, waved down the travelers when they approached.

“Andraste’s mercy!” the villager cried out. “Thank the Maker that you got here when you did! I thought for sure these monsters were going to get me!”

“When did the darkspawn get here?” asked Alistair as he looked over the side of the cliff to see how bad the damage was so far.

“Just a few hours ago, not that long everyone was evacuated to the castle,” the panicked peasant explained. “I thought I could make it to my home and back before they got here, but it took me too long to get down here. What a relief you arrived!”

“Have the darkspawn gotten into the castle yet?” asked the other Warden as he didn’t sense that many in the village square. The villager only shrugged and excused himself to head back in towards the road. While the town was lucky to have not that many creatures invading, it still took some time to clear the raiding parties that were attempting to break past the castle’s gate where soldiers were still pushing them back. What darkspawn were left alive soon retreated, allowing for the companions to reconvene with Arl Eamon, Bann Teagan, and Riordan, the veteran warden rescued from Howe’s dungeon.

“It’s a relief to see you unharmed,” spoke the senior member of the Grey Wardens to Izarre with sincerity. “And you as well, Alistair…or should I say your Majesty?”

“Err,” the King hesitated to reply. “No, I wouldn’t say that. Not yet, anyway.” To this, Riordan nodded and gave his report.

“The darkspawn that attacked Redcliffe were relatively few in number, I’m afraid. It was assumed the horde was marching in this direction…but that is not true.”

“Indeed,” replied Arl Eamon. “Riordan tells us that the bulk of the horde is, in fact, heading towards Denerim. They are perhaps two days away from the capital.”

“What?!” Taking a step back, Alistair tried to process the new information. “Are we sure about that?” he asked. “I mean…if that’s true…”

“I ventured close enough to… _listen in,_ as it were,” Riordan replied. “I am quite certain.”

“We don’t have time to get back, even if we left this very second,” Speaking softly, Izarre placed a hand on Alistair’s shoulder for to show his support. “Has word been sent to Denerim?”

“Word has been sent,” Eamon nodded. “But they need more than a warning. They need our armies.”

“There is, I’m afraid, one other piece of news that is of even greater concern.” Riordan sighed and turned his attention back to the junior members. “The Archdemon has shown itself. The dragon is at the head of the horde.” Izarre and Alistair looked to each other with worry.

“But as Izzy said, we can’t reach the city in just two days. It’s too far!”

“We must begin a forced march to the capital immediately, with what we have. Denerim must be defended at all costs,” Eamon insisted.

“And only a Grey Warden can kill an Archdemon, which is why we must also go,” Riordan also added.

“Then…we march,” Alistair reluctantly agreed. “And hope the army we’ve collected here gives us the chance we need. How long before the army can set out?”

“By daybreak,” Eamon responded.

“Then let’s get them ready. I won’t all those people die without giving them a chance.”  Izarre nodded to his future husband, but something wasn’t quite settled.

“But…how are we supposed to defeat this Archdemon?” he asked innocently. The King turned to his partner with a shrug.

“I was wondering that, myself…”Surprised, Riordan looked between the two recruits.

“Then…you don’t know?” The pair he addressed just raised their eyebrows. “Of course not.” Answering his own question, Riordan shook his head. “Duncan wouldn’t have expected…Perhaps you both should meet me before you retire for the evening. There are…things we need to speak of.” Again, Izarre and Alistair shared concerned gazes before nodding silently.

“I will give the orders at once, and will notify you the moment we are ready to march,” Eamon said before turning to take his leave.

“That would be appreciated. Thank you,” Izarre bowed and watched as Riordan had already started to make his way to a more private room.

“Well,” Alistair grumbled as he turned to his lover. “We have a forced march at dawn and a night to be let in on more Grey Warden secrets. I bet it’s not good news. It’s never get good news.”

“No,” Izarre flatly responded. “We don’t have that sort of luck, do we?” Still, he offered a smile and beckoned the fresh King to follow him. There was an eerie coldness there, as there were no lamps or candles were lit where Riordan had retreated to, which set unnerving atmosphere perfectly.

“You are both here. Good.” Speaking softly, the oldest of the three Wardens straightened his back to offer his condolences. “Please know, I assumed you had already been told. Otherwise, I would have told you this when you freed me in Denerim. I…am sorry.”

“What is it?” Noticeably unhinged, Alistair questioned what was going on. “What are you apologizing for?”

“It’s just that…it became clear to me that you likely did not know after you took the throne,” Riordan explained. “And then how you announced your engagement…Tell me, have you ever wondered why the Grey Wardens are needed to defeat the Darkspawn?” To the question, Izarre shrugged.

“I thought _necessary_ might be an exaggeration,” he replied. “We have an advantaged being able to sense them and already immune to the taint…so I’m sure there’s more if you’re pushing this issue…”

“Yes,” the senior Warden nodded. “That taint is exactly what it involves.” He stopped to lower his head while taking a few paces around the room as he tried to find the words to explain himself. “The Archdemon may be slain as any other darkspawn, but should any other than a Grey Warden do the slaying, it will not be enough.” He circled the two Wardens in front of him, their eyes following closely as they waited on pins and needles to hear the rest. “The essence of the beast will pass through the taint to the nearest darkspawn and will be reborn anew in that body. The dragon is thus all but immortal.”

“So, I take it killing all the nearby darkspawn in the area to stop the transfer is out of the question?” Izarre asked as he folded his arms over his chest. By the look his superior gave him, the youngest amongst them took that as a no.

“If the Archdemon is slain by a Grey Warden…its essence travels into the Grey Warden instead.”

“That…doesn’t sound very healthy,” mumbled the King and turned to his love for confirmation, but was only shot a nasty glare. “Yes, dumb joke. Nerves, remember?” he tried to laugh it off, but lowered his head as Izarre shook his own.

“A darkspawn is an empty, soulless vessel, but a Grey Warden is not. The essence of the Archdemon is destroyed…and so is the Grey Warden.” It was Izarre’s turn to stare stunned and speechless while Alistair actually said out loud what they were both thinking.

“Meaning...the Grey Warden who kills the Archdemon…dies?” Alistair’s face immediately paled when he was nodded at.

“Yes,” Riordan confirmed. “Without the Archdemon, the Blight ends. It is the only way.” The two younger Wardens hesitantly looked at each other once again, though the eldest amongst them did not sense fear, only sadness. “Do not fret,” he tried to reassure them. “If possible, the final blow should be mine. I am the eldest, and the taint will not spare me much longer…But If I fail, the deed falls on you. The Blight must be stopped now or it will destroy all of Ferelden before the rest of the Grey Wardens can assemble. Remember that.” The words were of no comfort and only drove the feeling of knives in their bellies a bit deeper. “There will be much to do tomorrow and little enough time to rest before it. I will let you return to your room.”

In the hallway, Izarre had attempted to walk away from Riordan’s room, but was forced to stop at a nearby bench because his legs had begun to buckle underneath him. Shaking, he held himself up against the piece of furniture as if he were going to vomit. “Izzy?” Alistair asked gently. “Izzy, are you alright?”

“No,” Izarre answered bluntly. “I…I need some air.”

“Alright, we’ll just step out…”

“No!” The trembling Warden shouted as he pulled from Alistair’s helping hand. “Please, I need a moment alone.”

“Alone? But we…?”

“Alistair! Please!” A lump caught in the rejected man’s throat, but he took a step away even though he did not want to.

“Apologies…I understand…Just…Come to bed soon, alright? We need to rest up for tomorrow. I….I love you… Remember that.”  With a forced jerk, Alistair turned to leave, but heard a choked sob from Izarre’s direction and the clatter of armor as the young man hit the floor on his hands and knees. It was difficult to keep walking away as he had to use every ounce of his strength not to turn around. It would be Morrigan instead who would quietly come to retrieve Izarre out of the hallway and moved into her own room so no one else would see her friend in such a state.

She moved him to her bed and handed him a cup of tea she had been brewing in the fireplace. “Please, drink this,” she smiled and brushed his moist hair away from the green tear-filled eyes. “It will calm you as I know why you are unhinged,” she said as she took a seat next to him. “You have lost many people who saved you already, and you fear that Alistair will be overcome with his feelings for you that he will sacrifice himself…or at least try, yes? But I have a plan, you see. A way out. The loop in your hole.”  As Izzare held the tea cup but did not drink from it, far too distracted and confused as to what Morrigan was talking about.

“You look more lost right now than Alistair always,” she teased him. “I know what happens when the Archdemon dies. I know a Grey Warden must be sacrificed, and that sacrifice could be you. I have come to tell you this does not need to be.”

“How…do you know about this?” asked Izarre in a strained voice.

“Shh, just listen,” Morrigan insisted as she placed a finger to his lips. “I offer a way out. A way out for all the Grey Wardens, that there need be no sacrifice.” The Warden’s eyes narrowed briefly and he moved his face away from her hand to stare down at the hot tea.

“Magic, I’m guessing?” he asked and finally stopped fighting the urge to take a sip from the cup. “With this?”

“Tis just peppermint tea…but I do offer a ritual.” There was a gentle laugh from the Sorceress before offering an explanation. “A ritual performed on the eve of battle, in the dark of night.”

“…I only use magic on impulse,” Izarre shook his head. “I know nothing of grimoires or spells. I don’t know how useful I can be…”

“It is old magic, from a time before the Circle of Magi was created. Some would call it blood magic, but I think that means little to one like you.”

“…We saw blood magic in the tower and in the Alienage. I will not…ah…No…If…if it’s my own blood, if it could save Alistair…” His argument against such a thing began to fall apart as soon as he said it out loud.

“…The price need not be so unbearable, especially if there’s much to be gained. It will not take your life or his, as you are who I am trying to save.” Leaning back on the bed, Morrigan positioned herself in a suggestive and inviting manner. “What I propose is this: lay with me. Here, tonight. And from our…joining, a child will be conceived.” There was a crash as the half-full teacup fell from Izarre’s hands and shattered upon the stone floor.


	25. How to Make a Demon Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimer: A few lines of dialogue have been taken directly from the game or have been paraphrased from game dialogue. Anything recognizable as game dialogue is not mine, and I bow to the BioWare writing team.*

 

“Wh…what? What do you mean? Why are you asking me for this?” Izarre stammered as he stood up from the bed and walked away from the shattered cup on the floor. There was anger to his voice; rage mixed with sadness and betrayal.

“The child will bear the taint,” Morrigan tried to explain amongst the yelling. “And when the Archdemon is slain, its essence will seek the child like a beacon.” With his temper cooled, the Warden slowly began to stop shaking only because what he was being told actually made sense. If nothing else, Morrigan knew how clever and susceptible to logic her friend was which was why she felt no need to be angry at him for questioning her motives.  “At this early stage, the child can absorb that essence and not perish. The Archdemon is still destroyed, with no Grey Warden dying in the process.”

“But…why me?” Izarre still felt the urge to ask even though he already partially knew the answer. Unlike most others in the group, Morrigan had grown to care for him after all. Despite her seemingly dismissive attitude and icy demeanor, she was actually quite taken with him, even if not on a romantic level.

“Think about what I offer you; the chance to avoid death. Or better yet, the chance to slay the Archdemon and live as a hero. No Grey Warden has ever done this.”

“I have no interest in being a hero. You should know that about me if nothing else.”

“Then a chance to live then and a chance for Alistair to live beside you. In return, I will conceive a child, one who will be born with the soul of an Old God…and you allow me to walk away and you do not follow. Ever. The child will be mine to raise as I wish.”

“So why me? Really? Why not Riordan, a senior member with a stronger taint in his blood?” Morrigan shook her head at the suggestion.

“Even if I thought Riordan could be convinced, he is unsuitable. I need one who has not been tainted for long. It must be you and it must be tonight. The only other alternative is…well…You know of whom I speak.” Sinking a bit as he stood, Izarre knew exactly who the other choice was.

“Alistair…The only other option is Alistair.” To this, Morrigan nodded as Izarre covered his eyes to slow down a second wave of tears.

“If you do not wish to take me, I understand, but if you care for your lover at all, it must be you…or you must convenience him to take your place instead. I do not pretend to understand why you are so hesitant, but those are your only options. You know as well as I do that he puts you on a pedestal and that if there was any inkling of you being endangered, he will strike the final blow himself rather than risk losing you. I also know that you would do the same for him.” Pacing a bit where he stood, Izarre eventually moved to towards the door.

 “Wait here. Please…I have… much to discuss, but will return shortly.”

“A wise decision,” Morrigan sighed. “I shall wait here while you go and speak to your King. I urge you to be convincing it whichever you choose.”

With that, Izarre left and made sure his face was clean from tears before returning to his shared bedroom. Alistair had already undressed and sat upon the edge of the bed with his head down in deep thought. He didn’t look up, even though he clearly heard the door open and shut. He knew exactly who it was. “Thank you for coming back,” was all he said before standing to face the wall rather than his torn lover. “I…wanted to stay awake for you and apo…logize?” His tone softened as he felt an embrace from behind. After turning around, his hands were taken to be held.

“Alistair,” Izarre began. “I am…truly sorry for my behavior.”

“That’s a bit formal, isn’t it?” Alistair asked with a forgiving smile. “Listen, I know how upset you were at the news. I might just be too surprised to be nearly as worried as you are, but then again, I’m not very smart either, so let’s just go to sleep and…” As Alistair moved to tug his worry-wart of a fiancée into the bed, he was surprised at Izarre’s resistance and pulling away.

“Actually, wait. We need to talk. I saw Morrigan in the hallway and…we had a discussion.”

“This is what I get for becoming king. Everyone always brings you the bad news,” the fresh royal laughed.  “So what is it, then?” Rats running amok? Cheese supplies run low? I can take it.”

“…Rats and cheese? What are you…?” Exasperated, Izarre only sighed and tried to dismiss the terrible joke. “…You know that I love you, right?”

“…Could you make it sound more ominous? Tell me, already.” Letting go of Alistair’s hands, the nervous Warden backed away to pace a bit as he spoke.

“It wasn’t as if I was looking for her for this, but I confided in Morrigan about our troubles; specifically the part about how we could be faced with the Archdemon before Riordan and how killing it means that one of us could perish in the process.”

“Ah.” A lump caught in Alistair’s throat as he watched Izarre walk back and forth, something he knew his lover only did when he had troubling things on his mind.

“And please don’t say how we can _figure it out_ later because we might not have a later. Look at me, Alistair. I’ve lost my family and you’ve lost yours, but I’m a nobody. I am the adopted son of a slaughtered noble house that doesn’t even share the bloodline. If you really want to be specific, I’m basically a maleficar and will likely be branded as the social climbing whore who seduced a naive king if we fail. No one will mourn my passing and more importantly, I simply won’t allow you to die for me. You know me, Alistair. If it were up to just the two of us to kill the Archdemon, you couldn’t stop me even if you wanted to! But, let’s say that you beat the odds and actually managed to do so, what makes you think that I _want_ to be in this world without you? You’re the only one I’ve ever had these feelings for and I…”

The lengthy tearful confession was a side of Izzare which Alistair had never seen before. The strongest willed person outside of Duncan he had ever known, whom had lifted him up and carried him all this way from a thrown away illegitimate son to being the king of Ferelden, was now falling to pieces right before his eyes. “Izzy,” he frowned as he reached out to comfort his distraught love, but the other Warden backed away.

“No…No. I’m not done yet,” Izarre protested as he put a hand up to stop Alistair from embracing him. “We can avoid death tomorrow. All of us. We do not have to die with the Archdemon.”

“If you mean running away, I can’t do that,” Alistair scoffed, amused at the thought, but something didn’t seem right. “But…you don’t mean that, do you? What is this about? You’re not making any sense.”

“There’s a magic ritual which could protect us…but I need to your help.”

“Oh?” Cocking an eyebrow, the King was at least curious. Izarre wasn’t the type to throw magic at every problem after all. “Something Morrigan cooked up, no doubt. What do you need me to do then? I’m not a mage and you barely qualify as one to begin with.”

“…I…” There was a pause as if Izarre had to force the rest of the sentence out of his strained throat. “I need to you sleep with her.” Of course, Alistair laughed again.

“Ha! Cute! This is payback, right? For all the jokes?” However the laughter slowly came to a halt as the hurt pair of green eyes continued to stare at the floor and the lump in Alistair’s throat dropped to his stomach as if it were a boulder. “But…you’re not joking. You’re…actually serious. But…what? Why? Why would you ask me to do something like that?” Cringing at the anger being hurled in his direction, Izarre visibly shrank away in both guilt and shame.  “You’re not actually asking me this, are you? What sort of ritual is this, anyway? Izzy? Izarre! Answer me.”

“…It’s blood magic,” the younger Warden weakly replied. “Not what we saw in the Circle, but something else. You will need to sleep with her so she can have your child and…”

“WHAT?!” Again, Izarre flinched as Alistair ranted in his direction. “I…I must be hearing things! Are you telling me to _impregnate_ Morrigan in some kind of…magical…sex rite?! Maker, why?” Pinching the bridge of his nose, the King had to take several breaths to calm down. “Suppose, I believe you for a moment. This child…Why would Morrigan want such a thing? Does she want an heir to the throne?” At least Izarre could shake his head at that.

“No, it’s not about…well. On her end, it’s not about having an heir; otherwise she wouldn’t have asked me to do it first.”

“…So, not only are you saying that she wants me to impregnate her, she actually wants _you_ to do it and I’m a what? Substitute? Runner-up? Did you flip a coin? Draw lots?” Taking a step forward, he reached out to grab Izarre’s wrist so the younger man would stop walking away from him. “You _need_ to explain this to me. Now.” After releasing a held in breath, Izarre finally calmed down enough to tell Alistair everything he knew more clearly in regards to the taint in their blood and what the pregnancy would create; a human born with an uncorrupted soul of an Old God.

“She will take the child to raise on her own. If you’re concerned about an heir, she doesn’t seem to be interested in such things,” he added at the end and hoped that would be enough for Alistair to finally agree.

“Fine.” Even after letting go of the scrawny wrists he had taken captive, Alistair still remained within reach. “However, you and I both know that you’re just dancing around the one question I really want an answer to.”

“Ah…”

“Do not take me for a fool, Izzy. I know you’ve been with women before you met me. Men as well, I imagine. You were asked first, yet you’re asking me to sleep with her instead? Why? It doesn’t make any sense. “ Taking his beloved by the hands, Izarre squeezed them affectionately as he answered.

“It’s because of you, Alistair. It’s because of _us_. Yes, I’ve been with men and women alike before you, but I also know that one day, you’ll have to leave me behind to make love to a woman for the sake of your throne in an attempt to have an heir. Even if nothing comes from it, it will be demanded of you.  My father once said to me that a true ruler is actually a servant to the people and I know that _I_ am capable of not letting that ruin us.” Looking up, the sad green eyes caught the attention of the concerned hazel ones. “But _you_ …”

“But me?”

“You…would not, could not forgive me if I shared my bed with someone else no matter what any sort of duty demanded me to. Don’t say that you could because that would be a lie. You _hate_ how you were born out of wedlock, and how Cailan’s arrogance allowed Anora to manipulate that carelessness to be the death of him. We may not be married yet, but at least be honest with me. If I slept with Morrigan, would you really not look at me as spoiled every day for the rest of our lives? I cannot live with that.”

“But, if you had no choice…”

“It wouldn’t matter and I love that part of you. You accept me as who I am, but you know only of me and my touch.” A hand came to stroke the King’s cheek, a feeling that was leaned into. “ I may not have been as pure as the driven snow when you met me, but I will never hurt you in that way…Even if my life depends on it…and…well…it actually does. But for me, I wasn’t sheltered and I can live with you giving yourself to someone else for the sake of the kingdom. You…may feel guilty about it, but I will never be ashamed of you for doing something so selfless. Everything you do fills me with such pride, even if you don’t see it for yourself. I know what I ask of you may sound stupid and selfish…but part of me needs to break you eventually.”

“Break me?” Alistair asked a bit confused. “Break me of what?” Of you?”

“In a way, yes. There will be things demanded of you in the days to come that will require you to be someone that you are not.  You are already cracking from your shell just by becoming king. This is like a test for us. Can we survive this? Can we get past something as trivial as you spilling your seed in a woman to produce an heir? No one needs me to do that or will ever really, so I wish to remain completely yours and yours alone.” Leaning down and closing his eyes, Alistair gently nuzzled his forehead into the white hair.

“Actually, it’s a bit crazy, but I understand… A part of me is grateful how you are and how you came to me as you did instead of easily agreeing to Morrigan’s plan without my knowledge. Words cannot express how lucky I am to have someone who loves me enough to even confess something so…painful…So,” he paused to clear his throat.  “Is she still in her room then? We should…go speak to her if we’re actually going to do this before I...change my mind.”  Though Izarre looked rather surprised as his lover’s choice, he quickly nodded returned to Morrigan.

When they arrived, the woman was standing by the lit fireplace patiently waiting. “I would seem your talk is done?” she asked as the two Warden’s entered. “Has a decision been reached?”

“It has, but first I want to ask about this…child,” Alistair grumbled a bit. “The one you…want.”

“Interesting,” Morrigan hummed. “Honesty wouldn’t have been _my_ first choice…”

“I just want to be sure that you’re not going to use this…against Ferelden. That this bastard child isn’t going to show up some year…”

“Of that, you have my word,” she smiled and beckoned Alistair over. “Let us go somewhere more private. You will not hate this quite so much as you believe.”

“Wait a moment.” Rejecting her advances, Alistair crossed his arms to hold his ground much to Izarre’s surprise. “You said it didn’t matter which one of us…ah… _fulfilled your needs_ , correct? That it could be either one of us?” Intrigued, the woman nodded. “So…in that case…it will be the both of us.”

“Pardon? The both of you?”  With raised eyebrows, Morrigan questioned the statement with a small chuckle. Turning to fiancée, Alistair took hold of both of the smaller man’s shoulders.

“Listen, if we are going to do something we may both come to regret, then we shall be shamed together or not at all. I will not leave you here to suffer as I do _things_ in another room just as you would not let me watch you walk away to do the same. We will both play this selfish role as one.” Confused but helpless to refuse, Izarre could only look at Morrigan briefly before turning back to Alistair. After confirming his willingness with a silent nod, he was kissed passionately before being pulled under a strong arm without any hope of escaping. “You like a good challenge, don’t you Morrigan?” Alistair forced a grin. “I’m sure you can handle two handsome fellows such as us, right?” With a causal shrug, she moved behind them to lock the door.

“I’ve been on worse adventures.” Taking a hand from each of the Wardens, she pulled them to the bed. “Well go on, get started then. I’ll join after having taken my fill of the show.”


	26. How to Kill an Archdemon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimer: A few lines of dialogue have been taken directly from the game or have been paraphrased from game dialogue. Anything recognizable as game dialogue is not mine, and I bow to the BioWare writing team.*

The forced march from Redcliffe took its toll on the soldiers there, most of which were only local men from the militia leftover from when town was being overrun by the living dead. Still, they found comfort in meeting the Dalish elves as well as the dwarves. Even though they had all come from different backgrounds, what mattered most was stopping the darkspawn from overrunning their homes and killing their families. It was the common goal which united the people of Ferelden, something far more important than politics and personal gain. The relentless horde, however, had already breached capital city’s defenses before the armies had arrived. The sky filled with swirling black smoke as the darkspawn had easily overrun the short supply of fighters in Denerim, allowing for them to burn and pillage unchallenged. 

“Before us stands the might of the darkspawn horde!” Using a ruined tower as a platform, Alistair addressed his forces. “Gaze upon them now, but fear them not!” Looking down, he smiled as he offered a hand to Izarre. It was taken and the King pulled his fellow Warden up alongside him. “The man beside me is a native of Ferelden, now risen to the ranks of the Grey Wardens! He is proof that glory is within reach of us all! He has survived despite the odds, and without him, none of us would be here! Today, we save Denerim! Today, we avenge the death of my brother, King Cailan! But most of all, today we show the Grey Wardens that we remember and honor their sacrifice! For Ferelden! For the Grey Wardens!”

The audience erupted in a cheer and charged towards the city gates with Alistair and Izarre taking lead. The plan of attack was simple; kill as many darkspawn as possible. Each party member knew their job and assisted as many soldiers as they could, but it wasn’t until the Archdemon flew overhead did the creatures begin to pull back to selected points within the city which were being used as strongholds.

Being able to take a breather, Riordan regrouped and addressed the Warden’s company. “You’ve managed to fight your way to the gates. We’re doing better than I hoped.”

“That will change quickly,” said Sten bluntly.

“Bloody nug runners! We’re outnumbered three to one!” added a surprisingly sober Oghren.

“What do we do now, Riordan?” Wynne asked. “You have a plan, I assume?”

“The army will not last long,” he replied. “So we’ll need to move quickly to reach the Archdemon. Izarre, I suggest taking Alistair and no more than two others with you into the city. Anyone you don’t bring with you can remain here to prevent more darkspawn from entering Denerim on our tails.”

“I understand, but how exactly are we going to fight a _flying_ dragon?”

“We’re going to need to reach a high point in the city…I’m thinking the top of Fort Drakon might work.”

“The top of…?” Alistair stammered. “You want to draw the dragon’s attention?”

“We have little choice,” Riordan shrugged. “Though I warn you that as soon as we engage the beast it will call all of its generals to help it. I can sense two general in Denerim. You may wish to seek them out before going to the fort.”

“I’m sure that if we did slay those generals, it would stop the darkspawn in the city from doing a lot of harm,” Leliana insisted.

“It may also waste resources trying to find them. The decision is up to you. Meanwhile, I will be clearing a path to the Archdemon. With any luck, I will find it before you do.” Izarre and Alistair looked to one another before looking to Morrigan, only to be ignored.  “There are several units of our allies within the city by now. They may be able to come to your assistance if you call them, but their strength will be limited.”

“Right,” Alistair agreed. “We should place them where they will be most useful. Have the knights from Redcliffe go into the marketplace and the dwarves can begin to clear a path towards the fort. The Dalish will be more trusted within the Alienage and can use their bows since there’s only one way in and out with the gate. They can bottleneck the darkspawn and keep them from entering the residential area. As for the mages, there aren’t that many. Keep them protected behind the dwarves. If we need to, they have the range and methods to at least attempt in forcing the Archdemon down to us and keep the men manning the crossbolts  up there covered to be operated.”

“As you wish, your Highness. Now, who do you wish to take with you into the city?”

“It will be myself and Alistair, naturally,” Izarre said before turning to look at his other companions. “Zevran, I need you to be at my side and…Morrigan. Your spells could be helpful for attacking at a distance.” Zevran grinned at being chosen and Morrigan nodded silently. “Oghren, I want you to lead the charge and defend the gates here.  Do not let a single one of those bastards in.”

“Fine!” the Dwarf laughed. “Let’s just move on to the blasted main event, already!” Riordan nodded as well and walked way to begin his own mission, leaving Izarre to his group of friends to either give their best wishes…or say their goodbyes. “So. This is it.” Oghren was eager to say his peace after being told to lead the frontline.

“What are you going to do when this is over?” Izarre asked assuming that there will be something to do once the Archdemon was dead.

“Well, I thought I might go back and see Felsi. You know, find out if there’s anything still there. But first I want to say something. I’ll make it quick. You took in a drunken disgrace of an Orzammar warrior. You gave me a reason to fight and the will to keep going. You helped me find the one woman in the sodding world who might put up with me, and you helped me get past Branka so I could have someone new. I owe you a lot, Iz. I consider it a fine honor to die for you and your cause.”

“No one’s dying tonight. We’ll laugh about this over a pint or two one day, I swear.”

“Not one for facing the facts, are you? Aye, I’ll play along,” the Firebeard chuckled. “Let the stone turn red from the blood of heroes. Today I will be the warrior you taught me to be.” Turning away, Oghren headed towards the gate to yell at a few Denerim fighters standing idly about.

“So,” Shale huffed. “The Archdemon is next, is it? Well, part of me is glad that it has decided to leave me here at the gate, but the other part is….apprehensive? It’s not that I’m worried about perishing, necessarily. Let’s face it: I will be alive long after it has turned to dust, anyhow.” Izarre smiled at the sentiment and nodded. “Still, things have been so much more interesting since it activated me. Shame to end that, really.”

“Do not fret, I’ll be back one way or another.”

“Of course it will! Well, then. I suppose this is it? Have fun storming the castle.”

“If I see any pigeons, I’ll say hello for you.” Shale laughed at the joke and turned to follow the Dwarf.

“Are you ready?” Sten asked. “We have reached the battlefield at last.”

“I am. Thank you for your assistance, Sten.” Humbly, the Qunari bowed his head.

“I have done nothing. You have carried us this far. Do not doubt that.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling him this entire time,” Alistair added in his two cents as Sten took his leave.

“So, this is it…this is the end.” Leliana was staring up at the sky as she spoke, but turned to the Wardens with a smile. “We’ve come so far. It’s strange knowing that all our fates will be decided in a matter of hours.”

“Aren’t our fates decided before we even begin though?”

“I wish I could go with you…but the Maker has led us here. It would be wrong to waiver now. Be safe, friend, and may the Maker smile fortune upon you.” When all that was left was the raiding party, Zevran hummed and brushed Izarre’s hand to get his attention; a gesture which Alistair did not appreciate and shot an icy glare at.

“I was nearly afraid you were about to march inside without me. We cannot have that!” the Elf teased, more so when he caught Alistair’s glowering. “Let us go and teach this dragon a lesson, yes? It should have stayed in whatever hole it crawled out of. I will scout ahead and get a view of the field. Try to find a less…occupied route. Let me know when the rest of you are ready.” With the Assassin gone, only the people involved in the true secret of their upcoming victory were left standing together. Breaking the awkward silence, Morrigan spoke up first.

“So we head into the city together. As it should be. Once this is done, no matter how it turns out, I will be gone. You are aware of this, yes?”

“Then,” Izarre sighed as he reached down to take her hands into his. “Let me thank you now, for what you’ve done for us.” Whatever emotionally suppressing armor Morrigan had worn this entire time seemed to chip and break away as she allowed herself to be honest.

“You…are most welcome,” she managed to say. “It is, I think, the very least I could offer you and allow me to say only one thing before we go.” Looking down, her hands squeezed back with concern and affection. “I knew nothing of friendship before we met. And I will always consider you such. Live well, my friend. Live gloriously….Even you, Alistair.” Much the King’s surprise, there wasn’t anything sarcastic or bitter in what she had just said to him.

“Thank,” he stammered. “Thank Yo…” But before he could offer his gratitude, she cut him off.

“Now!” she exclaimed as she clapped her hands together. “Let us see this finally done. The Archdemon awaits.” With a swirl of dark magic, her body transformed into that of a hawk, which flew away to survey the battlefield from above.

“Well, we should get moving and use a route they find that isn’t filled to the brim with undead things,” groaned the King before he turned to his lover. “This could be it, you know. Soon, this will all be finished, one way or another.” Unable to say anything, Izarre instead reached out to brush his fingers along Alistair’s cheek. “And I love you. Always.”  Meeting back up with the rest of the team, Zevran gave his report on a few openings he saw and Morrigan circled once before landing in her human form to confirm the less occupied pathways.

Even with going around and avoiding the larger concentrations of darkspawn, the path chosen was still not an easy one. There were two generals along the way as well, but sending parts of the armies ahead of them at least protected the citizens trapped in the warzones.  There were also still incoming waves which continued to attack the main gate, but were stalled by Oghren’s forces.

Inside the fort were walls of corpses of unexpected recruits who were unable to get the word out in time to stop the siege, stacked up and placed on display. Unlike outside, there wasn’t any sneaking around to do as every darkspawn in the building had been alerted to their presence.  In heavy armor, Alistair was protected from what could have otherwise been mortal wounds, but his endurance was nearly at its limit. Zevran found himself running out of poison for his daggers and arrows, and even Morrigan was strained due to her heavy use of large area spells. Izarre had paced himself, rotating between magic and actual swordplay as he fought, but still had no real idea how to bring the dragon down once they were on the rooftop.

It was then when Riordan came out of hiding from behind a nearby tower and leapt onto the creature’s back. It struggled and flew erratically though the sky, slamming itself into structures and rooftops. The senior Warden was nearly thrown off several times, but his blade caught a wing of the massive beast and sliced down the width of it. Crying out in pain, the Archdemon began to tailspin towards the rooftop of the fort. Unfortunately, Riordan’s body had been flung off as he was unable to regain his balance and fell several stories into a clawing crowd of darkspawn in the streets below. Even if he did survive such a fall, the monsters quickly tore him apart.

That was it. The only two left who could kill the Archdemon were himself and Alistair now.

“IZZY! Look out!” Coming back into focus, the man dove out of the way as dark purple spitfire poured out in his direction. The Circle Mages, who had been escorted by the Legion of the Dead, began to cast binding spells and fortify shields against the attacks. Other darkspawn also joined the fray, attempting to reach the soldiers manning the massive crossbolts. It was an uphill battle, but slowly the spells began to take hold and the javelins had begun to hit their target. Eventually, the Archdemon was punctured, pinned down, and vulnerable. Izarre looked to Alistair and Alistair looked back. It would be a race to see who would reach the dark dragon first.

Running ahead, Izarre had manifested his ice blades once again to cut down anything in his path that meant to stop him, but Alistair had already made several hurdles. With Duncan’s sword in hand, he lifted it to make the final blow that would end the Blight, but  as the sword came down, it stopped short as Zevran quickly tackled him. Pushing the Elf off, Alistair came to his feet and screamed as loud as he could.

“Izarre! No!” But it was too late. The younger Warden had slit the Archdemon’s throat and had crawled on top of its back. Giving a sad look to Alistair, he mouthed what he assumed to be his final words.

_I love you._

With both of his ice blades around the dragon’s neck, he severed the head.  As it bleed out, a massive light began to glow and shot beams directly into every living thing on the battlefield. Izarre’s light paralyzed him as the darkspawn instantly began to wither away. The Old God was reclaiming its soul from those who bore the taint. Even though Alistair had not killed the vessel, he still doubled over as he grabbed his head in pain. A flood of memories began to fill his mind with flashes of a golden city rotting away into a swamp and men of every race becoming corrupted as their skin blistered and decayed. The scene progressed into a clashing of swords, flying gryphons, and in the end, he saw Duncan’s face.

The rest of the army had been left unharmed, but the impact of the soul leaving vortexed inwards before exploding. As the dust cleared, the nearby darkspawn were lifeless on the ground. The other combatants were dazed, but soon sprang to life as they cheered in their victory. Alistair and Zevran slowly rose from where they were knocked back, both coughing up the smoke. “Izzy?” battered King mumbled as he pushed himself up, but was unable to see clearly through the debris. “Zevran! What did you do!?” he yelled as he lifted the injured Elf to his feet and shook him furiously.

“Izarre…He…He told me to stop you from making the killing blow as my final favor…I…I have kept my word, even if my life is forfeit.”

“He…He told you to stop me…No…Izarre!” Alistair screamed and dropped the Assassin as he tried to move forward. He stumbled a few times, tripping over the dead bodies of his own people and darkspawn alike before running into the beheaded dragon. The foul smell and miasma forming forced him to cover his face as he desperately searched the remains. That’s when he spotted it; a river of white spilling out from underneath a curled scaly arm. With whatever strength he had left, he grabbed the massive claw, straining himself as he tried to pull it up. “Help!” he called out. “Over here!”

Zevran was first to come as he also attempted to pick up the weighted arm. Soon, others came as well; dwaves, humans, mages, and the Dalish all aided in the King’s effort to roll the dragon onto its side. When the beast was finally budged, it began to disintegrate into ash and revealed Izarre’s motionless body with the exception of his hair which had become loose and blew in the wind as a white swirl. “Izzy! Izzy! Wake up! Please!” Alistair called to him as he fell upon his knees to cradle his lover in his arms. Placing an ear to the pale pink lips, the King suddenly smiled. “He’s breathing! He’s alive!”

There was a sigh of relief from everyone who was close enough to bear witness the miracle and in the corner of his eye, Alistair watched Morrigan also smile sadly before sinking back into the crowd to disappear for good with a hand placed upon her stomach. Wynne and the rest of the companions had made their way up to the rooftop since the rest of horde had retreated and were first to assist Alistair in determining the young Warden’s health. While it was true that Izarre had survived the slaying of the Archdemon, he had yet to respond to any Alistair’s pleads for him to open his eyes.

 “Sometimes, a mage is injured in a traumatic way, it is said that our spirits leave to recover elsewhere as the body heals,” Wynne began to explain. “It’s rare, true, but the same happened to me, I believe, when I was near death at the tower.”

“Elsewhere?” Alistair asked. “Where would he go?”

“My guess would be to the Fade. When hovering between life and death, the veil is quite clear to us. He may have crossed over, likely caught in a dream until he is strong enough to return on his own. We need first need to have his body mended. Clear the way to the castle!”


	27. What to Do after a Happy Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimer: A few lines of dialogue have been taken directly from the game or have been paraphrased from game dialogue. Anything recognizable as game dialogue is not mine, and I bow to the BioWare writing team.*

Izarre always hated how the window in his room had a peach tree near it as the sound of birds chirping every morning drove him mad. They always woke him up, no matter how much he tossed and turned in his comfortable bed or buried his head underneath a pillow. This morning was no exception, but there were enough things to do today which justified the rude awakening. For starters, he was due to be wed to a kind noblewoman with a charming smile and a knack for telling inappropriate jokes. While his father didn’t exactly approve of her saucy one-liners, it was something the young Nobleman had grown to enjoy.

“Are you still asleep, pup?” Teryn Cousland asked as he came into the room to pull back the curtains and swat as his adopted son’s feet. The bare toes quickly retreated back underneath the covers and refused to budge.  “Wake up already, son. We need to get you cleaned up for your big day.” Still, Izarre didn’t move until his blanket was tossed aside by the Teryn himself. “You chose your bride, so there’s no point in hiding now. I only pray to the Maker that she doesn’t make a speech. Andraste help me if I have to hear another quip about _cheeses_ ,” he shuddered at the thought

The young man snickered while his head was still hidden before deciding to sit up. “It would lighten the mood,” he smiled before making his way to stand. After a long stretch, he turned to his window to view Highever. There was still remodeling being done after Howe’s failed coup d’etat against his home and the Blight, which was successfully driven back to the Deep Roads by the Grey Warden Commander, Duncan, and his second-in-command… “Alistair.” The name fell out of his mouth as he continued to stare out the window.

“Who?” his father asked as he stood next to him. “Picking out baby names already?”

“What?” Looking confused, Izarre shook his head. “No, Alistair is my…What is that?” Distracted, he pointed down at the peach tree where rather large bird of prey perched where normally only small, annoyingly loud songbirds resided. It was an unusual shade of red with eyes seemingly focused directly up at him rather than below to look for food.

“Curious,” the Teryn replied and pulled Izarre away. “Probably here hunting those rats from the larder. Do not mind that. Hurry and get dressed!” Pushing his son to the wardrobe, the doting parent quickly began to pull out proper wedding attire that had been cleaned and pressed the night before. With the Teryn busy choosing outfits for his youngest, the sneaky youth slipped back to the window to take another peek at the unusual creature sitting there.

“Where’d it go?” he muttered under his breath as he was unable to see it in the tree below. It caught him off-guard as it suddenly attacked from above. As the bird screeched, Izarre closed his eyes as he put his arms up to shield himself.

“Izzy. Wake up,” a male voice whispered in his ear. The green eyes opened once again and found themselves staring at a tall woman with short brown-blonde hair and hazel eyes wearing an elegant, yet regal gold dress. Turning to his right, he realized that he was also standing in front a large seated audience in his manor’s main hall. There were people there who looked familiar yet…strange. There was a golem covered with gemstones in the back of the room, lifeless and wrapped up in a bow along with a pair of sisters seated near the front. The darker-haired one of the two wore a tight black and burgundy velvet dress with an incredible bored expression upon her face while the Ginger had on the most lavish and gaudy purple pair of shoes he had ever seen. There was also a fire-bearded dwarf in the background helping himself to the open wine barrels with Lady Landra while a dusky elf was busy slipping his hand into her son’s pants.

“Izarre!”

His name was called again by an unrecognizable voice.  It sounded feminine, yet distant, even though his bride was standing directly in front of him. Looking around, he tried to find the source as the audience grew tense and began to whisper amongst themselves.  Had he gone mad? About to give up and return to his wedding, a loud sound of a bird’s screeching caused him to him to turn away again. Looking up, he watched as it dove from the upper balcony and grew larger the closer it came. As its talons outstretched to plunk them up like field mice, Izarre pushed his betrothed in an attempt to protect her.

“Wake up,” the female voice called out to him again, clearly and more gently than before. Candles began to light themselves down the wedding hall, but everything had changed. Instead of pressed finery, he now stood in a ragged set of leather armor splattered with blood and pieces of wet flesh. In place of his bride was a mounted set of empty gold-plated armor cut for a man bigger than he was. His hairstyle had changed to a simple, high ponytail rather than the intricate design of loose strands and small braids his mother fussed over while claiming it was all the rage. To his left were his slaughtered parents as he remembered them from escaping with Duncan. To his right, the wedding guests were slumped over in their seats with spilt innards on the floor. The only ones still alive were frozen in time; the two opposing sisters, the gift wrapped Golem, the drunken Dwarf, the frisky Elf, a Qunari stuffing his face with cookies at the buffet table, and an old woman with endlessly pouring herself a glass of wine.

Staring out into the ruined wedding, he heard the screech again from behind. Turning around, everything began to disappear as if someone had begun to pour turpentine on an oil painting until he was alone in a white abyss. The only thing he could see was a red painted symbol which resembled what had been attacking him this entire time on a tattered banner waving in the wind, yet attached to nothing. “My son,” the softer female voice spoke again which made him jump with his family’s sword extended.

“Who’s there!?” the Warden yelled as he kept himself on high alert.

“Do not be afraid. Do you know where you are?” It took a moment for Izarre to realize, but he finally put the pieces of the puzzle together.

“The…Fade? I am in the Fade, but how? How did I get here?”

“What do you remember?” Stopping to think, Izarre lowered his sword and paced around. “I…killed the Archdemon, but I could see its memories and feel its…emotions. I couldn’t move and then…Am I dead?”

“No,” the voice said with a smile. “You are quite alive.”

“So why am I here? Who are you? Why don’t you show yourself?”

“I am here, but you choose not to see me. You do not wish to remember who I am therefore you see nothing. You remember my voice though, at least.”

“Are you…a demon then?”

“No,” she said. “Only an illusion. Your protection. A mother does what she can to protect her child, even if the child forgets. There are demons that have been trying to placate you, but you are strong.  So strong. Find it. Find me. Find yourself.” As the white bright lights began to dim, Izarre squinted as darkness began to engulf him once again.

“Izzy. Izzy, please wake up,” Alistair begged while holding the Warden’s hand deep in prayer. Slowly opening his eyes again, the sleeping man awoke and felt a bit woozy with his vision blurred. Feeling his hand being held, he squeezed back in response to being asked to awaken. “Izzy? Oh, thank the Maker…” In a sigh of relief, Alistair sniffled back his sobbing as if it never happened. “You were out cold for nearly the entire day.”

“It hurts,” Izarre muttered with a hoarse voice. “My chest hurts. Difficult to breathe.”

“You were crushed underneath the Archdemon after it fell. You had a few broken ribs that the healer was able to bind, but you’re not completely done recuperating yet and after you are, we need to have a very long discussion as to why Zevran rushed me on the battlefield…”

“Ah.” Coughing and weakly, the young Noble attempted to sit up to only to have to lean back on the headboard afterward. “Do not be angry with him. I…asked for a favor…”

“Yes, I am quite aware for your _favor_ ,” Alistair grumbled. “Though I’m not surprised. Feeling a bit dumb though for not thinking that up myself first, but what’s done is done. The Blight has ended and you are alive. That’s all that matters.” As his hand was squeezed again in apology, Alistair’s bloodshot and sleep deprived eyes smiled.

“What do you know about dreams?”

“Other than mine coming true when we get married?” They shared a small laugh, but Izarre shook his head.

“No, I mean…foreshadowing? Warnings?”

“Oh, like with the Archdemon or the one I have where I’m being crushed under a giant wheel of cheese?”

“I…I don’t know. Perhaps it’s nothing, but I was dreaming about our wedding…except you were a woman and my family was still alive, but every time I grew content, there was this large bird that kept attacking me, though not in a vindictive way. It kept pulling me out of my dreams so I wouldn’t get lost in them and a woman’s voice told me to find her. There was also this symbol of some sort.”

“Symbol?  Of what?”

“The red bird which kept attacking me.  A hawk maybe?”

“That…sounds like something to do with Morrigan. Maybe you wish to go find her after all?” Frowning at that, Izarre took some time to consider it the choice, but shook his head.

“No, I promised that if this worked, we wouldn’t go looking for her. We owe her at least that much…Besides, in the dream she called me _son_. I _know_ my mother’s voice and it wasn’t her. Didn’t sound like Morrigan either.”

“And if Morrigan starts calling you _son_ , we have an entirely new set of problems,” Alistair groaned. “You are adopted though. Maybe it was your birth mother? Do you remember her at all?” Again, Izarre shook his head so Alistair only shrugged. “I suppose that’s what happens. It’s not like I can remember Maric at all, but we have a family again. Each other in particular and I was so scared that I might lose you, but here you are. And here I am. Not bad, right? And speaking of family, I have some good news, though I apologize for not sharing it sooner. Your brother, Fergus, we found him alive. He’s has a room in the castle if you wish to see him.”

Grinning, Izarre nodded though when he reached out to touch Alistair’s cheek, he noticed the tear streaks. “I knew he was alive, though I can send for him later.”

“I’ll see to it that he at least knows that you’re alright then. As for the rest of the Grey Wardens, they haven’t arrived yet from Orlais, though they’ve already begun to send…questions. What should I tell them?”

“I care not what you tell them,” Izarre huffed as reached out with his other hand to pull Alistair into the bed with him.

“That a maleficar saved you and then ran off to have our demon baby?” the King teased as he tried to be careful not to put too much weight on his fiancée while finding a position to snuggle in. “That has a certain ring to it, right? No…I suppose I’ll just have to keep that to myself. I can shrug and look stupid. It’s a talent.”

“How about distracting them with a few rounds of stick the cheese to the wall?”

“Ha! But in all seriousness, I am concerned about what that ritual is going to cost, eventually…. I honestly don’t know if I could have done it if you had refused to…be there, as it were. I thought, maybe now the idea of having to do that again for a true heir will be easier, but...” Looking away, Alistair stopped to replay the memories in his mind. “Next time, I get to pick the woman. Deal?”

“So long as it’s not Wynne.”

“Damn, you saw through my plan! Ah well, I bet she has a few knitting circle old bats we can pick from, right? Do elderly mages have knitting circles or is it just demon possession and fireballs all the time? At any rate, I can’t wait until you’re healed up and we can be alone together. Finally get these formal affairs over with…” While hovering over Izarre’s body, Alistair planted a careful kiss on the young Warden’s lips.

The pair remained curled up together until the mages came to check on their patient. With their help, Izzare recovered completely by the month’s end and Alistair’s coronation was celebrated throughout the land.  When their wedding day came, Izarre was dressed a custom-made dragon scale set of leather armor which broke the tradition of a queen’s formal gown intentionally, although he did have his long white hair decorated with flowers and braids as his mother would have wanted. Alistair also wore a new set of armor, a replica of his King Maric’s, but carried Duncan’s sword and shield. Maric’s sword was buried with Calin’s ashes in a public funeral attended by Anora before she was exiled to Anderfels after a short trial where she was found guilty of conspiring against her husband which ultimately led to his death. Her name and titles were stripped, along with any properties she may have inherited through marriage or from her father.

There were also new crowns commissioned. While matching in basic design, the King wore woven gold bands with a ruby setting to honor the Theirin bloodline while Izarre wore silver with sapphires which represented the Grey Wardens. As an engagement present, Izarre also requested that the mages be allowed to govern themselves after proving unwavering loyalty to both their country and their Circle. Even though Alistair had once been on the road to become a Templar, he had to agree with this assessment and saw it as a chance to unify the country. This eventually expanded by also adding ambassadors from both the Dalish and Orzammar serve in the court as well.

After the wedding, Fergus went back to Highever as the new Teryn to rebuild with ample support from his brother and new brother-in-law where he began an outreach to assist refuges from all over Ferelden and welcomed them into city. Most notably, he took a special interest with the orphans and often retold the tale of how he had been recused by his little brother twice over who started out just a child in the streets and was now sitting on one of the thrones. Later, he would build the tuition-free Oren Cousland Boarding School of Swordplay and Knighthood where he eventually found love again with a commoner who volunteered her time there. Together, they adopted several children of their own.

Shale returned to Orzammar to kill more of the _pigeon-like_ darkspawn while Leliana returned to the chantry to use her honed skills for more holy adventures. Formally, Alistair pardoned Zevran officially for attempting to assassinate him and unofficially for shamelessly flirting with his spouse which the Assassin took as sign to leave with his newfound freedom, but promised to return one day if only to get a rise out of the King of Ferelden. Wynne was one of the few who stayed on as the court’s official mage and the Circle’s ambassador along with Oghren, who was grateful to be able to enjoy himself with Felsi since they had managed to live after all. With his sword in hand, Sten thought best to return to Saharon and reported the deeds he had witnessed to his people along with a recipe for his newfound favorite type of cookie.

After returning from an extensive honeymoon, Alistair made arrangements to visit Orlais while Izarre, as the new Warden-Commander, departed for Amaranthine…


End file.
